


And Now Again

by one_go_alone



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle, Conspiracy, Dwarven Politics, F/M, Intercrural Sex, Kidnapping, King Thorin, Lots of Fili, M/M, Politics, Post-Battle, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Canon, Rescue Missions, Romance, Sex, Thorin gets kidnapped, and Gimli, and Ravens, and Tauriel, probably more tags to be added as I remember stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6357568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_go_alone/pseuds/one_go_alone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin's first decade of rule has gone well, Erebor is flourishing, and the world is at peace. But darker forces are growing in the shadows, and some would like to know how it happened that a ragtag group of dwarrow managed to bring about the end of Smaug, defeat Azog's army, and reclaim Erebor, which stands once again as a guardian fortress for the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. If the Shadow is to rise, then something must be done. </p><p>Getting Thorin Oakenshield out of the way seems like a good place to start.</p><p>His kidnapping is well-orchestrated...but those responsible may have underestimated the lengths to which Thorin's family and friends (even those not living in Erebor), will go to keep him safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've done my foray into "Weird AU fic" so now it's time for "Epic Action/Adventure fic"! XD This is the "Thorin gets kidnapped AU" in my head. I wanted a post-movie story where Bilbo had a chance to save Thorin when he (through no fault of his own) was in trouble and needed help, and it came out as this weird kidnapping plot which worked better when I tweaked a few things away from my original idea. (Also, it lets me play around with some of my headcanons for Erebor.) There's a lot of Fili in this, and I'm trying hard to do everybody justice, so please let me know if I can improve!
> 
> I am almost done writing Chapter Two, but I'm not sure I'll stay ahead of where I'm posting, so some other things might get posted in between chapters of this, just fyi. For now, though, updates every Friday.

The moon shone bright over Erebor, washing out the stone into varying shades of cool grey and illuminating the forest that was slowly starting to grow again on the mountain’s lower slopes. The branches were bare yet in the last days of winter, but within a few weeks the winds would be rustling with new green leaves. 

Thorin took a deep breath of the chilly air as he climbed steadily up one of the smaller paths that led from the main battlements, heading towards a smaller guard post as was his habit on nights that he couldn’t sleep. Nights like these were much fewer and further between now, a full decade after the mountain had been reclaimed from Smaug, and with his people once again well-settled into their rightful homes. 

Sleeplessness had not entirely ceased to plague the King Under the Mountain, though, and of course someone had seen fit to mention Bilbo Baggins in the monthly council meeting today...Thorin was not so blind to himself that he would deny that on those days when their former Burglar was mentioned, a sleepless night for him usually followed. 

Pain at the fact that he had not seen Bilbo for the full ten years since the mountain had been reclaimed was a familiar sensation in his heart, and not as dulled by time as he might have once believed it would be. 

Sighing and accepting that the lack of his- his friend’s presence in the mountain was one of the few points of dissatisfaction in his life these days, Thorin continued his climb. He was well out of sight of the gates now, this part of the mountainside darker and quieter and therefore more suitable for his restless mind than the light and constant shifting of patrols at the main gate. 

He came around another curve of the slope, ready to nod at the guard who stood at the little post, and was used to his King’s presence here. The guard (Hlear, son of Hlein, Thorin remembered), turned and stepped down to offer Thorin a bow, as always.

Only this time, the clunk of the guard’s boot at the edge of the path ended with a crumbling sound and a yell as the stone unexpectedly gave way, pitching Hlear out and down the craggy slope. 

Thorin’s body was moving even through the shock in his mind ( _since when had the path here, regularly used and maintained, become so unsafe?_ ), and he quickly slung himself down the slope after the guard, trying to maintain his own footing on the steep incline; he would be no use to either of them if he got hurt as well. Undoubtedly the other guards would have heard something and would be here soon, but he didn’t like the way Hlear had fallen and wasn’t yet moving.

The King reached his guard with only a couple short slips of his own, ignoring the small scrapes and bruises in favor of checking the unconscious dwarf over. A hard hit to the head, then, and he didn’t like the angle of that leg-

He sensed movement behind himself a second too late to turn, and the blow across the back of his head was sharp enough to make his vision swim. His first instinct was to reach for the dagger strapped to his belt, but his limbs would not cooperate and his struggles were rewarded with another blow, nearly as hard as the first.

Through his increasing dizziness, Thorin realized that he and Hlear both were in trouble. This was no accident, but something carefully planned, and he had no idea who might be behind it. He cursed his own inattention and lack of weapons.

Thinking quickly, the King swallowed back his need to fight off the attacker, and slumped forward as if he were truly unconscious. Allowing his eyes to fall closed did ease the dizziness somewhat, and he listened carefully as other booted feet approached as quietly as possible over the rocks. 

“Is it done?” one voice, a Dwarrow voice which hovered on the edge of familiar, asked brusquely. 

“Almost,” said another, a Man from his accent, and unknown to Thorin. Rough hands grabbed him and began to tie him up, stripping off his warm overcoat before binding his hands behind his back, gagging and blindfolding him, and relieving him of what weapons he did carry. He wanted to snarl and fight, but the blows had left him slow. At this point it was probably best to learn whatever he could about his attackers, while recovering as much as possible before trying to strike again. Surely the other guards would be here soon...

“There. Now His Majesty is all set to go.” The voice was mocking, and Thorin grit his teeth against his outrage. Who would _dare_ -

“Good. Get them both to the river, and don’t be too rough with him – the price was offered for him alive and able to talk.” 

Price? What price? Thorin fought to think through the slow spinning of his mind. Who would have put a bounty on the King of Erebor...? No real answers came to mind, but none of the vague possibilities that occurred to him were encouraging. 

“What do we do with the guard?”

“Kill him, and sink the body in the river. You have spare barrels, don’t you?” 

“We’re not stupid. They’re all full with proper cargo, just like the instructions.”

“Then get going. The other guards will come looking soon, and we need to be-”

Rage and fear gave Thorin a burst of strength and he reared back, attempting to head-butt the Man who was standing stupidly close behind him. He connected, but not hard enough, and both of his attackers swore softly.

“Do it right this time!” The Dwarf hissed, “If you get caught then you’re-”

The next blow was too much even for a hard Dwarrow skull, and blackness overtook Thorin before he could hear any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have read through/edited this several times, but it is not beta-read, so please feel free to point out any errors that I may have missed. Hope you are intrigued with the prologue. Chapter One next Friday!


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erebor has questions and too few answers in the wake of Thorin's disappearance. Fortunately, the Crown Prince is not alone in his search for the truth.

“Yer Highness.”

Fíli jerked out of sleep with a dagger in each hand, poised against a nonexistent threat.

Already on the other side of the room, Nori chuckled shortly. “Glad to see you’re still in fighting form, Yer Highness.” 

“I’d better be,” Fíli muttered, running a hand down his face and taking a deep breath to will away the unneeded rush. When his hands felt steadier, he slid away the knives and squinted over at the thief who was now perched on the desk, examining one of his jeweled paper weights with interest. “Aren’t you in jail?”

“Of course,” Nori replied breezily, waving one hand about as if that would distract Fíli from the fact that he was tucking the paperweight inside his tunic with the other. “I was arrested for thieving a year ago; undoubtedly you heard.”

“Being caught with royal trinkets won’t help your cover,” the crown prince grumbled, more annoyed at having been woken so abruptly than about the paper weight. 

“It’s no cover, Yer Highness,” Nori said matter-of-factly. Then he sighed. “But, I suppose you’re right. Too many questions if one of the guards were to get handsy.”

Fíli raised an eyebrow at the other dwarf, who grinned and put the paperweight back on the desk.

“So, if you’ve actually been in jail for the past year, then why are you here now?”

“Because His Majesty seems to have gotten himself into a spot of trouble.” There was a gilding of humor over the words, but Fíli could tell that underneath that Nori was both serious and upset.

Swallowing, the crown prince nodded. He allowed his hands to clench into fists but otherwise forced himself to stay calm.

“Company business takes precedence over my own...endeavors, shall we say,” the thief went on then, “and His Majesty and I may have had a certain...understanding.”

“So...are you actually Thorin’s Spymaster, or just moonlighting at it?” Fíli grumbled. It was too late, or more likely too early, for Nori’s word games.

The thief hushed him, and it would have made Fíli smile were the situation any less dire. “Don’t be saying things to ruin a Dwarf’s perfectly disreputable reputation like that! Obviously, the likes of me would never be held in the King’s confidence.”

“Your presence in the Crown Prince’s bedchamber at whatever hour it is says otherwise,” Fíli shot back.

“Company business, like I said,” Nori insisted, waving him off. Realizing that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer on this topic tonight, the prince let it go.

“What should we do?” 

Dropping all pretenses, Nori sat up straight on the desk and met Fíli’s gaze directly. “We don’t know enough. This was too quick, and too neat, which means that someone with very deep connections here in Erebor was involved. We, and especially _you_ , Yer Highness, are going to have to tread very carefully.”

“It’s not...it couldn’t be anyone in the...” Fíli hated to even voice the thought, but he had to know, and Nori would understand.

“No,” the thief assured him immediately. “No, it was no one in the Company, I’m certain of that. You can count on all of us. But outside the Company...”

Outside the Company, every Dwarf in the Mountain was potentially suspect. It wouldn’t actually come to that, of course; a conspiracy that had been kept so quiet that not even Nori had heard a whisper of it meant that only a very small number of Dwarrow could be involved, or word would have spread.

“And Uncle?” Fíli asked then, almost dreading the answer.

“If he were dead, there’d be little point keeping it a secret,” was Nori’s opinion, “unless they accidentally killed him when they meant only to kidnap him.” Seeing Fíli’s wince, he shook his head quickly. “But that’s unlikely. No, continued silence and secrecy only matters if he’s still alive, which means that he’s being taken somewhere specific. I’ll see what news is to be had from outside the Mountain, if there’s any word that would give us a hint. Common sense tells me they probably took him south on the river, because that would be the fastest way out, but where exactly he is amongst the river traffic, or where they might leave the river, I can’t say. See if your brother’s lady friend can give us a hand there?”

Fíli sighed a little at the mention of Tauriel, but realized that it was a good point. The elf warrior could move outside the Mountain with an impunity that none of the Company, and certainly not himself or Kíli, could manage. All eyes would be on them now, with Thorin missing, and they would have to watch everything they said and did.

“So, I must keep the Mountain running, try and find who is responsible for this, make sure that Uncle is rescued and brought safely back,” the crown prince summed up wearily, “and until the perpetrator is caught, I can’t fully trust anyone outside the Company.”

“That’s about the shape of it,” Nori agreed. “My advice to you is this: play along with the officials and advisors, and keep yer eyes and ears open. Some will look to take advantage of you, even if they weren’t involved with the kidnapping, and one of them is actually behind it, and will intend to benefit from it sooner or later. We’ll have to figure out who that is, without putting you in a position where you’re a threat that might need to be removed as well. I think if a direct attack were to be made against you, it would have happened already; means that Thorin alone was the target. What purpose that serves anyone, I can’t say.”

“All right,” Fíli agreed. “Is it likely that they want a ransom for him? It’s not like we can’t afford to pay one.” Even after a decade, the sheer amount of gold that still remained in the treasury was staggering.

“Too soon to know. But if a ransom demand comes, it’ll be soon. If more than another day goes by with no word, then we must assume that his captors have some other purpose than to demand gold for his return.”

As awful as it would be, Fíli desperately hoped that it was ransom that his uncle’s kidnappers wanted, if only because that would make this much quicker and easier to solve. If he’d been taken for some other, unknown purpose...

“Try not to worry too much, Yer Highness,” Nori told him then, “we’ll get it sorted.”

“Thanks, Nori,” the prince mumbled, trying not to let his fear and grief overwhelm him. He hoped his uncle was still alive and not harmed, or at least not too badly harmed, wherever he was.

He hoped that Nori was right, and that Thorin wasn’t already dead.

“Go back to sleep now, Yer Highness,” Nori said, slipping down off of the desk. “Word’ll get to you from me as it needs to.”

Fíli nodded, and let himself fall back onto his pillows. He didn’t bother trying to watch Nori sneak out of the room, and was quite sure that if he inquired in the morning, he would be told that Nori had been safely locked away in his cell all night, just as he had been for the past year.

He wouldn’t ask, though, because he didn’t dare give anyone any hints that they should pay attention to Nori. They knew far too little about everything, right now, and he didn’t dare give up any of the few advantages that he did hold.

Reminding himself that he would have to deal with the council later today, the Crown Prince of Erebor rolled himself up in his covers, curled up, and very slowly managed to fall back to sleep.

\--

“-and it will be up to Your Majesty to decide what steps should be-”

“ _Highness_ ,” Fíli interjected, interrupting the councilor sharply when he gestured casually to Fíli while using his uncle’s title. “ _Crown Prince_ is my title. Don’t be so eager to crown me King, Councilor Sórli. Unless you have some news regarding King Thorin that we do not?”

Sórli, son of Bogi, paled slightly at the implication, and shook his head quickly. “My apologies, Your Highness. It is just that...”

“Just what?” 

“Well, it has been five days, Your Highness,” Sórli soldiered on through the awkwardness, “and there has been no ransom note, no direct indication that he is, in fact, still alive. I hope as much as any Dwarrow in this Mountain that he is alive, of course, but the possibility remains that...that you may be ascending the throne sooner than any of us had anticipated.”

It was the truth, however unwelcome.

 _That is something that I hadn’t thought of before,_ Fíli realized in the moment of silence that followed, _that if Thorin is dead, or if we are unable to find him, then I_ will _be the one on the throne. Who gains from that? The council? The nobles? Those hoping I might make new appointments among the dwarrow who report directly to the King? Someone hoping I might marry to their advantage?_ Nori had been right to warn him to take care.

“Obviously, some dwarrow in Erebor are hoping that His Majesty is _not_ alive,” said Vagna, daughter of Yngva, sternly to Sórli, “otherwise he would not be missing in the first place. It has escaped no one’s notice that this could only have been accomplished with inside help.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Sórli asked, pushing up from his seat, his elaborately braided chin jutting in Vagna’s direction.

“No, I am not,” she said calmly, staring him down. “But _someone_ is guilty, and we will serve His Majesty, His Highness, and Erebor best by not forgetting that.”

“Of course!” Sórli said, clearly still affronted, but he resumed his seat.

Fíli held back a sigh. “Is the council agreed that the investigation I laid out earlier is the best course of action at this stage?”

Ithunn, currently head of the council, looked around at her five fellow council members and then bowed slightly to the Crown Prince from her seat. “I believe so, Your Highness.”

“Is there any other business that the council wishes to discuss?” He tried hard to keep his fatigue out of his voice. Thorin was much better at this, though Fíli had been sitting in on many council meetings for the past two years.

“There is the matter of the trade agreement with the Stiffbeards,” council member Ronni put in. “There have been some complaints.”

Fíli opened his mouth to point out that Thorin had ruled on this matter at his last meeting with the council just six days prior...but then Nori’s advice to “play along” came back to him, and he changed the reprimand into a question. “Complaints, Councilor Ronni? I was not at the last council meeting, would you care to fill me in?”

He knew what was discussed before, of course, but letting the councilors feel important would probably help in the long run. He listened as the older dwarf outlined the objections of certain groups within the Mountain to the trade agreement in question, and then openly solicited advice from each of the council members on the topic, promising that he would give it careful consideration. 

At last, they agreed that the meeting could be adjourned, and Fíli made his way tiredly back towards the royal wing. He took his time, as he did whenever he could. Ten years on, his legs were remarkably well recovered, but he had shattered the bones badly in his desperate bid to get away from Azog in the Battle of Five Armies. Oin had told him many times that it was a small miracle he could walk at all, and Fíli had done his best not to push. He could walk well, most of the time, and could run or fight for short periods, but there was permanent damage that would never fully heal.

It was frustrating, at times, but truly he considered it a small price to pay for still being alive and mostly well. Although if he was doomed to sit in unproductive council meetings for the rest of his days, he might have to rethink that.

 _Now I know why Uncle keeps these meetings to once a month,_ the Crown Prince thought, shaking his head. _Much better to just have the appointed Guild Masters and Inspectors give direct reports. Much more efficient._ Especially since anyone with a direct appointment from the King knew better than to waste His Majesty’s time with unimportant matters. The council members, while sometimes offering good advice, or at least a sense of the opinions within Erebor, did not have direct duties, and were thus less important.

Less important to a strong, experienced King, at least.

Hesitating only briefly after entering the royal wing, Fíli quickly gave in and turned in the direction of his mother’s rooms. Normally, she would have been down at her Guild workshop at this hour, but Dwalin had convinced her to stay closer to the Royal wing for a few days until they knew more.

Receiving a somewhat absent-sounding “Come in” to his knock, Fíli was not surprised to find Dís, daughter of Nísi, bent over her workbench. 

“Just a moment, love,” she said, her eyes on the agate bead she was engraving. 

“Of course, _Amad_ ,” Fíli said, and settled himself into a nearby chair where he could watch her work without disturbing her. Her concentration was soothing in itself as she devoted all of her focus to making the small pattern on this bead match the twenty others sitting off to the ‘finished’ side of her workbench. She had three left to do, from what he could see, and Fíli let all of his fears and the strains of the day fall away in favor of watching his mother’s fingers at their delicate work.

At last, Dís straightened with a sigh, stretching. “Hello, Fíli love,” she told him with a smile.

“Hello, _Amad_ ,” he replied, rising to go and greet her properly. “Is that the necklace for Guildmaster Tova?”

“Yes,” his mother said, turning a critical but pleased eye on the pile of engraved agate beads. “I still need to find a few more matching topaz in the right size to set between them on the string, so I cannot finish it quite yet, but the engraving is done.”

Fíli picked up one of the beads carefully to admire it. Dís was a Master Engraver and it showed, whether she was carving large runestones or small beads like this. His own crafting skills lay more with metal than with stone or gems, and Fíli had always admired his mother’s delicate and exacting hand. 

“It’s beautiful, as usual,” he complimented her with a grin, carefully returning the bead to its fellows.

“Thank you, love,” Dís said, and rose to embrace him. “How are you?”

“Tired,” Fíli admitted, and was even more grateful now that his mother had decided to make the journey to Erebor from the Blue Mountains. She had admitted a couple of years ago that it felt good to be back in her childhood home, even if she had been against Thorin’s quest when he first set out to reclaim Erebor.

“Understandably,” she said, and tucked his arm into hers before heading for the long sofa in front of the fireplace in her receiving room. “Is there any word on your uncle?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Fíli told her, frowning. “But I’ve spoken with Nori, and with Dwalin, and we’ll have a meeting with the company soon. Hopefully we’ll know more by then. You should come to that meeting, _Amad_.” 

Dís sighed, but nodded. Although born a Princess of Erebor, she had grown accustomed during their long years of exile to working for a living, and Fíli remembered very clearly the arguments she had had with Thorin shortly after her arrival at the Mountain, and her steadfast refusal to be involved with ruling it. 

“I am happy to support you, both as my brother and my King, but I am an Engraver, and that is what I shall continue to be. You are perfectly capable of running a household without my help, as we both know, and I would keep my time free for my work and my sons. You wanted the Mountain back, so the politics are _your_ problem.” 

Uncle Thorin’s face after that particular conversation had been quite amusing, though Fíli had done his best to keep his laughter to himself. It wasn’t as though Dís’ position on this was new to her older brother, but Fíli suspected that his uncle had still held out some hope that once Dís had actually seen Erebor, she would be willing to take on some of the duties of ruling. Thorin had neither Queen nor Consort to support him, and an heir who had still had a great deal to learn about running a kingdom.

 _And still does,_ Fíli thought, swallowing down his fears again. _What if I can’t do this? What if we can’t find Uncle? What if he’s already-_

“Fíli,” Dís chided him gently, turning his face to hers and leaning forward to press their foreheads together comfortingly. “It will work out. I have to believe that my brother is too stubborn to just up and die like this, and even if-” She had to pause, unable to quite say it aloud. “Even if the worst has happened, you will be a good King. You have come so far and learned so much, my son.”

Fíli smiled, blinking away tears. “Thanks, _Amad_.”

“Didn’t you have a meeting with the Council today? How did it go?”

“They’re certainly ready to crown me King the moment we hear the worst about Uncle,” Fíli said, torn between bitterness and resignation. Thorin had done so much to make their new lives in Erebor possible, and while not without his faults, he had been a _good_ King these past ten years. That any dwarf in Erebor thought they might be better off without him was...

He sighed. “Nori suggested that until we know more about what’s going on, it would be best if I didn’t rattle too many stones amongst the Council or the nobility. So I’m playing the naïve, young Crown Prince, which is closer to the truth than I’d like, but it seems like it won’t hurt to have potential enemies underestimating me.”

“Likely not,” Dís agreed, and then listened kindly while he spilled out all of his annoyance and frustration of the past few days. He had hoped to feel better at the end of it...but instead found tears welling in his eyes. Frustrated all over again, Fíli dashed them away. Getting emotional about it wouldn’t help. 

But then his mother had threaded a hand through his hair, pulling his forehead down to her shoulder, just as she had often done when he was small and frightened by a nightmare...and Fíli let the tears come, accepting her quiet reassurances and gentle insistence that he not trap it all inside his head and heart.

When the tears had finally passed, he whispered in a hoarse voice, “I hope Uncle is okay.”

“I hope so too, Fíli love,” Dís whispered in return, her own voice shaky, “I hope so too.”

\--

The sound of her boots scuffing gently over stone alerted Kíli to Tauriel’s presence. She allowed her steps to make that noise deliberately, he knew, so that he would hear her coming and not be too startled at the light hand that touched his shoulder a few breaths later.

Turning away from the view of the steadily-regrowing lands around Erebor, the younger prince turned to his love, and couldn’t help grinning at her in spite of his own low mood.

Tauriel returned his smile, her eyes lighting up, starlight from above making them shine even brighter.

“ _Meleth nin,_ ” she greeted him, low and happy. It had become a jest between them to never say the words in Westron, but only in their native tongues.

“ _Amrâlimê,_ ” he returned, embracing her. 

They stood like that for long moments, enjoying the time they could have together, even if it was less than they might like. It was about to become even less than that, if Tauriel agreed to his and Fíli’s request.

Drawing back, his love met his gaze with a serious look. 

“You’ve heard, then?” he asked, a bit relieved that he didn’t have to break the news of his uncle’s kidnapping to her. She had a cordial, if somewhat strained, relationship with Thorin, but he knew that neither of them wished the other ill.

“It is the talk of Dale, and word has reached the Greenwood as well,” she affirmed, and did not resist when he took her hands and led them to a low bench. “I have been officially instructed to offer my condolences to you and Prince Fíli.” Kíli’s mouth twitched in a wry smile. Thranduil was still a sly bastard, and probably not the least bit upset to hear that something bad had happened to Thorin. “Unofficially, I am to offer my assistance, and let you know that if you need passage through the Greenwood, it will be granted.” That would be Legolas then, as the Greenwood’s youngest prince had grown somewhat less hostile over the past few years. Kíli would not name him a friend, by any means, but he was not as antagonistic as he had been on their first meeting.

“Thanks. We think he’s been taken south along the River Running, though, so I don’t think we’ll need to head through the Greenwood at this point.” The prince hesitated, then clasped Tauriel’s hands a little tighter. “I did have a favor to ask, mainly from Fíli and me, but from the Company as well. If you are free, and could try and follow the trail...?”

“Of course,” Tauriel agreed at once. “I assume you mean to send messengers with me?” She looked around at the ravens perched in the aviary, and outside on various rocks and spurs of the mountain. All of them were listening to the conversation with half an ear, even as they attended to their own business of grooming and nest-building.

“That seemed like the easiest solution,” Kíli said, nodding. “I want to go with you, but-”

The elf shook her head immediately. “I would happily have you by my side, _meleth nin_ , but it may be dangerous for you to leave the Mountain, and I am sure your brother and your mother need your support.”

Kíli nodded, still feeling glum about it. “You’ll probably move faster without me anyway,” he joked, trying another grin.

Tauriel freed a hand to run it teasingly down his leg, much broader than her lovely, slender limbs, and much shorter.

“That is possible, yes,” she said, eyes twinkling again with good humor.

Kíli groaned at the tease, but blew out a breath and gestured three ravens down from the mountainside to join them in the little nook where they were seated.

“Huruk, Rarc, and Kuhak, this is Tauriel,” he introduced, “Tauriel - Huruk, Rarc and Kuhak.”

Kuhak, taking the lead, hopped onto his shoulder and croaked a greeting to the elf, who bowed her head in greeting. “I am pleased to meet you, Kuhak, Huruk and Rarc. If you would oblige me, I would be happy to assist in the search for His Majesty.”

“About time,” said Huruk, fluttering his wings impatiently. “We have been ready to leave for two days!” Kuhak, who had grown close with Thorin over the past few years, ruffled her feathers in dissatisfaction. She had been especially affected, Kíli knew, becoming disinclined towards speech and restless to go looking for her favored dwarrow companion.

“I know,” Kíli soothed, carefully soothing the raven’s ruffled feathers. “But we must be careful. Trying to find Uncle Thorin without letting on how much we actually know is tricky. We’re hoping that whoever is behind the kidnapping here in Erebor isn’t actively tracking his movements themselves, in order to avoid a link that could be tied back to them, but we can’t guarantee that. It’s one of the reasons that I can’t go myself, much as I would like to; it would give too much away about what we know.” He grimaced, hands clenching restlessly into fists to keep from reaching for a bow and arrow that he wasn’t currently carrying.

Tauriel nodded. “At least you do know some? That is better than having no direction at all.”

“It is,” Kíli agreed.

“Enough chatter,” Huruk broke in again, with agreeing caws from the other two ravens. “We have delayed too long as it is. Can you move swiftly enough to keep up with us, elf?”

“Swiftly enough, I believe,” she said, “though I must also take some care not to be seen. I am not well-known within the Mountain, perhaps, but not wholly unknown either, and I would help you keep what advantage you have.” She rose, and embraced Kíli again when he stood as well. 

“Be safe,” she commanded him, and he smiled at her, nodding. 

“I promise.”

Then, with another quick embrace and a swift kiss, she was out the same window she had come in, picking her way swiftly and silently down the mountainside with the three ravens trailing after her.

Kíli watched her go until she vanished into the growing dusk, and only then did he force himself to turn away and go back inside.

\--

Thorin did not know how much time had passed before they let him out of the barrel. 

He was dumped unceremoniously out onto the ground, half-sick and reeking, and then kicked over until he coughed and his captors could be sure that he was still alive. The nondescript patch of riverbank did not tell him anything about where he might be, other than downriver from Esgaroth. Since he might easily have guessed that much on his own, it was less than helpful.

“Give ‘im some water and a biscuit,” grunted a Man’s voice. “The reward is for ‘im alive, so don’t rough ‘im up too much.” Nasty chuckles broke out at that, and it was obviously taken as permission to handle him as roughly as they could without causing permanent damage. 

Thorin bore the beating in silence, teeth gritted against the pain. It was not the first time, he told himself, though he hoped that perhaps it might be the last.

His stoicism lasted all the way up until one of the Men grabbed his beard, a knife glinting in his other hand and an ugly smile on his face.

“Lookit this, boys,” he crowed, fingering the silver beads braided into Thorin’s beard, “must be worth a pretty penny, if a _king_ sees fit to wear it. Even if he is a filthy dwarf king.” Thorin felt his eyes widen involuntarily. Surely they would not-

But of course they would.

He quickly shut down all feeling as best he could, pushing down nausea far worse than anything the barrel and the motion of the river had caused as the man’s knife cut his beard short again, stealing Thorin’s beads for himself. His other captors quickly crowded around, cutting through his other braids to claim those beads as well.

 _You have borne worse before,_ he reminded himself, _and can endure it once again._

If part of him wished to sob that he was _King Under the Mountain_ and should not have to _endure_ such abhorrent humiliation as this anymore or ever again...Thorin swallowed that down too. Fairness had not played any great part in his life. It had likely been too much to hope that a decade on the throne of Erebor would have put misfortune behind him forever.

At last, stale bread and water were forced on him, and Thorin made himself chew and swallow. Keeping up his strength against hope of rescue was the best thing he could do for himself at the moment.

That much, that rescue would be coming from his nephews and the Company, he felt it safe to hope for. 

Whether or not it would reach him in time, with his captors’ purpose and destination still unknown, was a different question that he could not answer.

He was stuffed back into the barrel after not nearly enough time in the cool, fresh night air. The best he could do was thank Durin that the barrel did not reek of fish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amad - Khuzdul for "Mother"  
> Meleth nin - Sindarin for "My love"  
> Amrâlimê - Khuzdul for "My love"
> 
> Here is Chapter One! The lovely [leathansparrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leathansparrow/pseuds/leathansparrow) is now beta reading for me, so that will help with any grammar issues. Please let me know if there are ways I can improve characterization at all! I would really like to do everybody justice. :)
> 
> Comments/kudos/questions are always welcome. :D


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company do their best to plan ahead, and Fili must find a way forward for Erebor even when he doesn't know who he can trust. Tauriel keeps moving, and at last learns a little more.
> 
> Meanwhile, back in the Shire...

They gathered late, in a mostly-unused room deep in the Royal wing.

The Company was silent and somber, clustering together around the table with only a couple of lanterns for light. They had all stayed fairly close over the years, though it would have been hard for an outsider to tell, as they did not gather all together very often in public and lived their day to day lives separately. In private, though, they made time to see each other regularly, and made sure to never go more than a month or so between group dinners (Nori having been the one exception over the last year or so since his arrest). 

This inclination towards privacy had come more from the hard-won camaraderie of the Quest, and the awkwardness of trying to share it with those who had not been there with them, than it did from any great need for secrecy. 

It came in handy now, though, Fíli realized, when secrecy was abruptly so important. He had a great advantage in his battle against this unknown adversary, this small but intensely loyal group of dwarrow, which was probably unknown to anyone outside of the Company themselves. Dís had elected to join them as well, but was sitting off in a corner, apparently content to listen.

Nori slipped in at last, completing their (depleted) numbers, and took up a spot beside Dwalin, who did not shift away from the thief as he might once have done. Fíli could find no humor in himself after these last exhausting days, but it was good to know that even the most disparate members of the Company were united in their desire to get Thorin safely home.

“What do we know?” the crown prince asked both Dwalin and Nori at once, since they had been spear-heading the collection of information.

“Little more than we did before,” grumbled Dwalin, his eyes dark with anger and guilt. He blamed himself for not keeping Thorin safe, and was taking the lack of news harder than most. Nori elbowed him with a grin.

“Now, don’t be so pessimistic, Dwalin,” he jibed at the guard, “we may not know much more, but the little more that we do know is important.”

“Well, out with it!” Dori insisted, gesturing impatiently at his brother.

Nori sighed. “Durin’s beard, there’s no respect to be had for honest spywork these days.” Just as on the night he had woken Fíli, though, he sobered quickly. “Whoever took His Majesty attempted to lay a trail which seems to lead east from the Mountain, but it is definitely false. He was taken south along the river, and is presumably still headed in that direction. The main question is what they will do now. Will they leave the river soon? Will they stay on the river and continue to follow it as it turns east? Or will they leave the river at the bend in the Brown Lands and head off in some other direction?”

“Any news from yer pointy-eared friend?” Dwalin asked Kíli gruffly. Tauriel’s fierce battle to help Kíli protect Fíli against Bolg during the Battle of the Five Armies had endeared the elf to Dwalin just the tiniest bit, though his respect was even more grudging than Thorin’s.

“She’s heading south along the river with the ravens, trying to see if she can identify which boat Uncle Thorin is on. No luck yet, but she is making good time, and has been able to eliminate a number of possibilities along the way,” Kíli reported. “They’re fairly certain that he hasn’t been taken away from the river yet.” He did not seem cheered by speaking about his lover as he normally would be. Each day that passed without word of Thorin had cast an increasing gloom over the company.

“So, we have no leads at all, other than ‘south along the river’?” Fíli asked, feeling hopelessness start to creep unbidden into his heart. River traffic was thick and prosperous these days, with Erebor’s forges hard at work and the cities of both Dale and Esgaroth growing. It would not be hard for the kidnappers to conceal themselves and Thorin too well for easy detection.

“Not quite,” Nori put in then, and straightened up a bit. “The only other thing I’ve heard – and this is the barest rumor, mind – is that someone, somewhere, had expressed an...interest in having His Majesty brought to them.”

“ _What?_ ” Fíli cried, jolting up out of his seat. “There is a _bounty_ on Uncle’s head? Why didn’t you say so at once?”

“Why haven’t you told us already?” Kíli said at the same time, also jumping up. 

“Because, as I just said,” Nori repeated with exaggerated patience, “it was the barest rumor and I only just heard it yesterday myself. Keep calm, Yer Highnesses, and try not to fret too much.”

“It means he’s bein’ taken somewhere specific,” Dwalin said, his brows lowered into a thunderous frown. “That’s better than them haulin’ him off at random and us trying to guess. We just need to figure out who put out the bounty and then move to intercept him.”

“But they could be taking him almost anywhere, like Nori just said,” Ori put in, frowning down at a map of Middle Earth he had spread out on the table for reference, tracing all the possible routes his older brother had mentioned. “And wouldn’t anyone putting out a bounty on a king be extra careful not to tell their name?”

“Depends on who it is,” Nori muttered, but nodded thoughtfully all the same.

“Part of the problem as I see it,” Balin chimed in, “is that even if we had a report on his exact whereabouts tomorrow, they are still too far ahead of us. We would struggle to reach him before these kidnappers get him to their destination, regardless of where that is.”

“Unless it’s close to Erebor and they’ve merely gone out of their way to make it seem like it’s elsewhere,” grumbled Gloin. “What proof do we have that it wasn’t that prancy Elfking from Mirkwood?”

Fíli saw Kíli sigh, just slightly, and decided to forestall a familiar argument. 

“Thranduil would not risk open conflict with Erebor, no matter how much he and Thorin hate each other,” the crown prince said calmly. “What plans can we put in place for each scenario?”

This was a more productive line of discussion. If the kidnappers came back north, then they could be intercepted from Erebor. If they turned east, then Dain and his dwarrow could move to intercept them. South was trickier, but Bard’s improved trading connections with Gondor might be of some aid, and if they turned west...

“Bilbo!” said Bofur, his face brightening at the thought of their friend and burglar. “We must send word to Bilbo, of course!”

Fíli felt hope jump in his heart at that suggestion, and the rest of the Company seemed to feel the same for they were quick to agree with the miner. 

“Gimli is in Ered Luin right now, waiting for the trade caravan to head back this way,” Gloin added, causing them all to brighten further. “If it comes to that, I can send a letter to him, and he can go to see our Burglar himself to explain things.”

“Master Boggins certainly got all of us out of enough scrapes before,” Kíli agreed, grinning, the sparkle back in his dark eyes. “With Gimli along to help him, the kidnappers will stand no chance!”

“True enough,” Dwalin agreed, still dour, but even he seemed less angry than he had been before.

“It’s a good plan,” Fíli declared to a quiet cheer all around. “If that’s settled, then I think we should adjourn for now, and await further word from any of our sources. Nori, do whatever you can to find out who’s behind the bounty, of course, but getting an idea of where they’ve taken Thorin is the most important thing.”

That decided, the Company slipped away again, just as unobtrusively as they had come. 

Fíli let out a deep breath, and accepted a hug from his brother gratefully. Holding each other helped a bit, and when their mother joined them from her corner, that helped even more.

Now it was back to waiting, and hoping.

\--

With her hair braided up and hidden under a hood, Tauriel avoided being too conspicuous at the small riverside port. She was too late, she feared, to reach the King Under the Mountain and help to get him away from his captors, but she was determined to find whatever clues she could. 

Precious time had been wasted as she was forced to follow the river as the Celduin meandered southeast and eventually met up with the River Carnen that came due south from the Iron Hills. The two together then continued south for some distance before bending east towards the Sea of Rhun. Had she known for certain that this was where Thorin’s captors meant to leave the river, she might have cut away from the Celduin before it joined the Carnen, and made her way overland in time to cut them off here at the bend. It had been impossible to be sure of their plans, though, and they had attempted to leave false trails leading away from the river before now. She could assume nothing, and necessity had kept her close to the water.

Heart aching for Kíli and all his family, she doggedly continued to search, trying to inspect the empty barges and river boats without offending anyone. Some had been abandoned, but others were only temporarily left alone, as she had discovered.

This one seemed properly abandoned, though, and she lounged against the pier as she studied it. Barrels, with mixed cargo, if the detritus still scattered along the deck was any indication. No different from a dozen other boats along the river right at this moment...

Kuhak, her eyes keener even than an elf’s, croaked sharply in what sounded like horror, and dove from Tauriel’s shoulder towards the deck of the barge. She returned a moment later with something small and shining clutched in her beak, and reluctantly dropped it into the archer’s hand.

It was a silver bead, of obvious dwarrow workmanship...and familiar to Tauriel, who had seen it threaded into Thorin’s beard-braid for the past several years.

“He was here,” she breathed, and Kuhak let out another distressed sound, her head lowered and her feathers puffing up slowly as she cast dark eyes around for a threat that wasn’t there any longer.

“Let us find out if they found a new vessel and continued along the river,” Tauriel told her, wishing that she could do something more to soothe the unhappy raven, “or if they have left the river and gone overland.”

She did not bother to approach any of the dwarrow who were working around the small port, thinking it unlikely that they would speak to an Elf, but eventually found a group of Men who were willing to answer her questions without too much suspicion. 

“That barge? That group left some days ago,” one of them told her. He turned to shout back at a companion, who worked at loading crates onto their barge. “Oi, Cal. That abandoned barge, how long back did they go?”

“Five days, I’d say,” the other Man returned, shrugging. “Not too talkative, they weren’t.”

“That sounds about right,” the first man told Tauriel.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “Did you happen to see which way they traveled?”

“Well, I think they headed west, best I can tell, leastways to move away from the river. Couldn’t tell you where they went after that, of course.”

“That’s all right,” the archer assured him. “Thank you again.”

She extricated herself after a few more minutes’ worth of small talk, so as to avoid seeming too suspicious, and was rejoined by the ravens as soon as she was away from the river a bit.

“West,” she told them immediately, “whoever was working that barge took their goods to the West, five days ago.”

Tauriel thought about what would be best as the ravens held counsel amongst themselves. She could go on, of course, could probably find the trail and would do her best to push until she caught up to the group. They would be moving more slowly than one elf alone, but she had no good idea of their numbers, and no allies who could help her in a fight. She could not assume that Thorin would be in any condition to fight even if she could get him free, and by the time help could join her here from Erebor, they would be too far behind to pick up the trail again. 

She also could not remain away from the Greenwood indefinitely, but was loath to give up or turn back now when she was more certain of the trail.

“Perhaps it would be best to follow and simply send news back to the Mountain about where they are?” she asked the ravens, who all ruffled their feathers and seemed uncertain themselves.

“I will take word back to the Mountain about this news,” Huruk said then. “Rarc and Kuhak will remain with you for now. Follow the trail to see if it turns. I will meet with Rarc or Kuhak here outside the port in three days’ time, with word from the Prince. There are other allies that may be able to intercept these filth, depending on where they are going.”  
Tauriel nodded, relieved. She would do her best to catch up, for then she would at least know for certain where Thorin was, and could perhaps free him. If she could not manage that alone, then hopefully these others could join her and with aid they could certainly free the King.

She waved farewell to Huruk, and then went back to the port’s small market to replenish what supplies she needed, mainly clean drinking water. The Brown Lands lay before her for an unknown amount of time, and while they were not completely barren, her limited knowledge of the lands south of the Greenwood did not fill her with great hope for their comfort and ease of foraging.

Meeting once again with Rarc and Kuhak, Tauriel took a deep breath, and set herself to the task of figuring out which of the many tracks heading west along the faint wagon road were the ones that she needed to follow.

\--

 _A member of the nobility,_ Nori had told him in a midnight report two nights ago, _that much I’m certain of. Could almost have guessed as much, of course, but it does narrow the field somewhat, since it also has to be a member of the nobility with some other position that grants them regular access to His Majesty. We’ll keep digging._

Noble, and with some other appointment. That meant some of the guild masters and appointed officials...and the council.

Fíli did his best not to stare around suspiciously at all of them during what had quickly become weekly council meetings. While he had wanted to protest that once a month was plenty, even if he was not his uncle, he was holding Nori’s advice about being underestimated to heart, and so had given in. His meetings with the other officials had been equally difficult since hearing Nori’s news, when the foremost thought in his mind was the question of which of these seemingly-supportive dwarrow was a traitor. 

“My apologies, Councilor Ronni, but what was that?” Fíli hoped that he had not heard the dwarf’s words correctly, but-

“I was saying, Your Highness, that it might be time to consider a marriage. Of course there is yet hope that His Majesty will return to us, but even i- _when_ that happens, it would still be wise to have the future succession in mind.” 

“I see,” Fíli managed, somehow not choking on his anger. Thorin had flatly refused to consider a marriage of his own (not surprisingly, given the...circumstances), and had insisted that there was plenty of time yet before Fíli needed to make any such decision. “Did you have someone in mind, Councilor?” 

“Well.” Ronni, son of Róli, coughed to cover what seemed like a smug grin. “As a matter of fact, Your Highness, there is a very eligible dwarrowdam, just a few years older than yourself. Beinta, daughter of Betta, has expressed her willingness to meet with you-”

“Now see here!” Sórli shot up from his seat, affronted. “How convenient, Councilor Ronni, that Beinta just happens to be the daughter of your cousin!”

“She is a perfectly eligible candidate,” Ronni protested, “that we happen to share a family connection is hardly a reason to take offense. Who would _your_ suggestion be, Coucilor Sórli?”

Sórli spluttered. “I was not prepared to make a suggestion to His Highness just yet, so I hardly see how that-”

“And why was this topic not listed on today’s agenda?” demanded Ulla, daughter of Rúna, also rising from her seat. “It is hardly appropriate to introduce such considerations without proper notification to the rest of us!”

Several of the other councilors opened their mouths to weigh in on the discussion.

“If we are going to have this discussion,” Fíli cut in, pretending his growing headache wasn’t there, “might I request that you all gather a list of proposed candidates beforehand? I believe that might be a more efficient use of all our time.” 

“An excellent suggestion, Your Highness,” Vagna agreed as the other councilors returned to their seats with murmurs of agreement and apology. 

“I would appreciate a complete list,” Fíli said, suddenly inspired, “with as much information about each candidate as possible, so that I can be informed before meeting with any of them.”

“We might also keep in mind that alliances outside the Mountain may be important in the future,” Vagna continued, nodding slightly at the Crown Prince when he couldn’t stop a quick flash of relief from passing over his face. Sure enough, that set off another round of debate amongst the council, and he swallowed back any further reaction carefully. There would still be a list of eligible dwarrowdam for him to consider by the next council meeting, but this would delay any decision they might try to push through.

He wasn’t opposed to marriage, but he had not yet met a dwarrowdam who matched his Heart, and he was reluctant to give up on that chance when he was not yet a century old. That was part of the reason that Thorin had been putting off the question. 

“If an outside alliance is necessary, then Prince Kíli can-”

“My brother has found his Heart,” Fíli said, voice quiet and diamond-hard, cutting off Councilor Ronni, “and your opinion of her does not change that fact.”

 _Careful,_ he reminded himself when the council all drew back slightly. He couldn’t afford to show too much steel in his spine just now...but too little could be just as deadly. _And I would rather show my hand than allow them even a passing thought of trying to take Kíli’s happiness from him._ It would not seem odd for him to be protective of his younger brother, so in this at least he could afford to stand his ground. The whole Mountain was aware that he and Thorin had both spoken openly in support of Kíli’s relationship with Tauriel, so that was not news to the council either.

The council meeting wrapped up quickly after that, as all of the councilors were now eager to begin assembling lists of their favorite candidates for Fíli’s hand, and he was too relieved that it was finished for now to care.

“I apologize for cracking open that particular stone, Your Highness,” Vagna said to him as the other councilors filtered out of the room. “I know that considering any marriage, much less a foreign one, can hardly be at the forefront of your mind just now.”

“It was bound to come up sooner or later,” Fíli allowed, shrugging. “And it will make the whole thing take longer, so thank you for that.”  
Vagna smiled and nodded. “I will add two candidates to the lists for next week, since everyone else will be contributing, but I believe that His Majesty is right to delay this question for now. We may have to reconsider if the worst has happened to King Thorin, but I will not believe that until we have some solid proof.”

Fíli nodded, and did not offer any further information. He liked Vagna well enough, but none of the council could be fully trusted right now. 

She took his reticence with good grace, and left after offering him a proper bow.

The Crown Prince remained where he was, and wondered again who might be a traitor. They were all of them trying to take advantage of his inexperience, all grabbing after a little more influence or power. He mistrusted Ronni and Sórli especially, for they had pushed the most to have their way now that Thorin was not here...but did that make them more or less likely to be a traitor? Would a traitor not be idiotic to show their hand so quickly? Or was one of them playing a double-bluff?

Deciding that his headache was too strong to be contemplating this right now, Fíli resolved to tell Nori everything that had transpired when his Spymaster could next visit.

He rose and made his way carefully out of the council chamber, heading for the battlements. Maybe some fresh air would clear his head...

“Fíli! Fíli!” Kíli tore around the corner ahead of him, and Fíli had to steady his brother as the younger prince came to a skidding halt just barely in time. The raven clutching at his shoulder squawked in irritation at the mad dash, but settled itself quickly. 

“News from Tauriel,” Kíli panted lowly in response to Fíli’s raised eyebrows. Fíli immediately drew Kíli into the nearest room, shutting the door firmly and checking that there weren’t any vents where someone might be listening.

“What news?” Fíli asked anxiously, hands back on Kíli’s shoulders.

“They left the river, and headed into the Brown Lands,” Kíli said, still gulping in air. “She’s still following for now, though they were at least five days ahead of her.”

“The Brown Lands,” Fíli breathed, hope and fear tangling up fresh in his heart, “that means they’re headed-”

“West,” Kíli agreed, leaning to touch their foreheads together. “They are taking Uncle west.” 

\--

Bilbo Baggins sat on the bench in his front garden, blew perfect smoke rings up into the clear blue sky and felt...content.

When this state of affairs did not lead to the sudden appearance of a grey-cloaked wizard speaking cryptically about adventures, Bilbo sighed and was forced to admit grumblingly to himself that what he actually felt was boredom.

It had been good to come home, to come back to the Shire after his adventure was over. It had been good to settle back into Bag End (even if he had to rescue his things from those who had bought them at auction first), good to get back into his routines, good to see his friends and family again. 

Being in the green, healthy lands of the Shire had helped to lessen the nightmares, the grief, the...heartache of it all. Hobbits were not meant for battle, and the things that he had seen and done during that chaos...Bilbo shuddered, and put the memories from his mind as best he could. His sleep was still not undisturbed now, ten years on, but he felt a great deal better than he had those first couple of years after the battle. 

The heartache had lessened with time as well. Although he and Thorin had forgiven each other, there had been betrayal and pain on both sides that was hard to overcome. Although they had crept shakily back towards their previous friendship over the one winter he had spent in Erebor, Bilbo knew that things would have been difficult between them for some time yet even had he been able to stay.

Perhaps, he sometimes thought, perhaps if it had been only one or the other, either the battle or the mess with Thorin and the Arkenstone, then he might have been able to stay in Erebor as part of his heart had so longed to do. Even in its decay, the mountain kingdom had been magnificent, and the separation from his friends and from Thorin (in spite of all that lay between them), had been painful. But memories of his confrontation with Thorin on the wall had threaded too often with his nightmares of the battle, and there was too much blood and too much pain.

So, with time and distance seeming like his only options for truly healing his heart and the unquiet memories of battle, Bilbo had packed, sadly said good-bye to his companions and the Lonely Mountain, and gone home with only Gandalf for company.

Time and distance had indeed done their work, and he felt much himself again, whole and hale...and healed of all but the ache of separation, which had never lessened, even as his other wounds eased.

Of course, with such improvements his wanderlust had once again begun to rear its head, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to convince himself that he wasn’t thoroughly bored. The Shire would always be a home to him, and he would always wish to return to it...but he was not at all sure that he wanted to stay and never leave again.  
Rivendell was a decided temptation, and Bilbo was quite certain that he would return to the Last Homely House. But the thought of going and _staying_ in Rivendell, of not traveling further east, sat poorly with him.

He wanted to see mountains again...and one in particular.

Whether or not he would be truly welcome in Erebor (whether or not _Thorin_ would welcome him back to the Lonely Mountain) was unknown to him. He had exchanged letters with the Company over the years, and was certain that they would be glad to see him. They had given him no indication that he would be _unwelcome_ under the Mountain, but...

He had not exchanged any letters with Thorin. He hoped that Thorin would be glad to see him too, and certainly they had parted on good terms. But Thorin had not written and Bilbo had never quite found the right words whenever he sat down to write a letter of his own.

That inability to find words that would untangle the mess of emotions in his heart regarding the dwarf king was immensely frustrating, and continued to leave Bilbo unsure about his own readiness to face Thorin again. His current tactic of ignoring the issue sat ill with him, but he had no better solution.

Bilbo hated not knowing what he wanted.

With a last, annoyed puff of his pipe, Bilbo rose from his bench, grabbed the mail from the mailbox, and decided to get on with his day. 

_No use brooding, Bilbo Baggins,_ he told himself sternly. _No use at all._

He forced himself away from anything that might resemble brooding for all the rest of the day, doing a bit of gardening, taking care of the shopping, fixing up the accounts and even a bit of writing, and then preparing a lovely supper of fish and vegetables.

Bilbo had just sat down to eat when there came a heavy knock on his door.

The hobbit froze, telling himself that he was just imagining a dwarven solidity to the sound, and rose to go answer it, thankful that he had at least not changed out of his day clothes yet.

_None of them have visited at all, and they’re unlikely to start now without so much as a letter. Besides, didn’t I tell them not to bother knocking? It wouldn’t be any of the company, anyway, probably just some peddler passing through, or Lobelia if I’m unlucky..._

Bilbo let his hand creep to waistcoat pocket, reassured at the touch of cool metal against his fingertips.

By the time he reached the door, Bilbo had so convinced himself that it must be anyone but a dwarf that he froze again with shock to find that there was in fact a dwarf standing on his doorstep.

No one that he knew, not one of the company, but there was something about him that seemed...

The dwarf bowed deeply.

“Gimli, son of Gloin, at your service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> River Celduin - The River Running  
> River Carnen - a river that runs directly south out of the Iron Hills, and eventually joins with the River Running
> 
> I would like to say that I have been using the [LotR Project map](Lotrproject.com/map) as I work on this fic, and it has been very helpful!
> 
> So, here is chapter 2! This is the last completed chapter that I have written, so I cannot 100% promise an update by next Friday although I will try my best. 
> 
> Anyone have guesses about where things are headed? I'd be curious to hear what you think. :)
> 
> Beta'd by [leathansparrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leathansparrow/pseuds/leathansparrow), any remaining mistakes are mine. If I can improve anyone's characterization, please let me know! Kudos/comments/questions are welcome, as always.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the destination of Thorin's captors still unknown, his friends and allies are uncertain they will be able to reach him in time.

Bilbo drew in a sharp breath, shook himself out of his surprise (disappointment, confusion, concern), and returned the gesture. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours. It is good to meet Gloin’s son at last! He spoke often of you on our journey. What can I do for you?”

“May I come in, Master Baggins?”

Somehow, that deepened Bilbo’s concern into true worry, and he quickly gestured the young dwarf inside, fussing out of habit as Gimli removed cloak and axes. Although he likely had some growing yet to do, Gimli was stout and strong like his father, his hair that same striking shade of red, his beard already full.

“Come have something to eat,” Bilbo insisted, ushering Gimli through to the kitchen, “and tell me what brings you to the Shire! I trust your father and everyone are well?”

“Thank you, Master Baggins, but I’ll give my news first if I may. After, a bite of supper would be much appreciated.”

Bilbo swallowed against the uneasy feeling that had crept into his stomach, and gestured Gimli into a spare seat at the table. 

“My father is well,” the dwarf told him, “as is most of the Company.”

“Most?” Bilbo whispered, the word slipping out involuntarily.

Gimli scowled fiercely, though it was obviously not directed at the hobbit. “If I knew of a better way to tell you this, Master Baggins, I would do it, but there is no easy way. King Thorin has been kidnapped from the Mountain, and his whereabouts and wellbeing are unknown to us, at least by the last raven I had from my father.”

Bilbo felt the breath leave his lungs as if he had taken a rather violent blow to the gut, and for a painful moment his heart seemed to cease beating. _Thorin._ Thorin was in danger, probably injured, possibly even de-

“You- You said he was _kidnapped_?” Bilbo managed to get out, voice strained as his breath was reluctant to return and his heart seemed out of rhythm. “By whom? _Why_?”

“We don’t know,” Gimli responded solemnly, and the hobbit found he appreciated the lack of overdone sympathy, the lack of false assurances that all was or would be well. There was a deep worry and care in Gimli’s eyes, his regard for his king obvious without the need for words or grand declarations.

“Kidnapped,” Bilbo muttered, unconsciously beginning to pace the kitchen, his fingers clasped tightly behind his back as he tried to keep them from twisting in agitation. “Kidnapped!” 

Abruptly, he was _furious_. How _dare_ anyone take Thorin away from what he had fought so long and so hard to reclaim? How _dare_ they take him from his _home_?

He spun to face Gimli again, startling the dwarf. “What is known? Surely you must know something?”

“Ah,” the dwarf said, “well, only a little bit. Nothing about who had him kidnapped, or exactly where he is being taken. But they have learned that his kidnappers are moving west, seemingly headed towards the Anduin.”

“West?” Bilbo blinked, his maps immediately springing to mind. That seemed...strange. West (if they continued across the river) would take them towards Rohan, and to go south along the river would lead to Gondor. Who there could possibly be interested in the King Under the Mountain enough to take him by force? Were there truly such enemies of the dwarves in the great cities of Men?

 _But that hardly matters,_ he told himself, shoving his curiosity aside. Such questions would need to be answered, but the only thing that mattered right now was getting Thorin back safely.

“What can I do to help?”

Gimli grinned, though it was tempered by that underlying worry. “My purpose in coming, Master Baggins, other than to bring you the news, was to ask if you would accompany me. It’s been decided that trying to intercept His Majesty’s kidnappers as they come west is more likely to succeed than catching up to them, though an ally is now following behind as well.”

“Of course,” Bilbo replied automatically, and had no reason to retract the words once his mind caught up to his mouth. “Of course I’ll come. I’ll do whatever I can.”

Gimli rose and bowed deeply to him. “The dwarrow of Erebor are already greatly in your debt, Master Baggins, and will be moreso after this. Thank you.”

“Nonsense. It was never a question,” Bilbo told him truthfully. It wasn’t; if Thorin needed his help, he would always come.

He could only hope that, in this case, he would come in time.

“I must pack and make a few arrangements,” the hobbit said then, hands on his hips as he glanced around Bag End appraisingly. “I’ll not be running out the door again on half a moment’s notice. Nevertheless, we’ll eat tonight, rest well, and I don’t see any reason that we can’t be on our way after lunch tomorrow.”

So that was what they did. And if Bilbo spent many moments breathing through his continued fury that anyone would dare to steal Thorin’s hard-won peace and happiness away from him...well, that was no one’s business but his own.

\--

“Risky,” Dwalin had grumbled at him when Nori caught up to him outside his rooms, but he hadn’t otherwise commented on the fact that the thief-turned-Spymaster was out of his cell.

“Necessary,” Nori had countered easily, and beckoned Dwalin to follow him. To be fair, the big warrior had done so without protest. 

Now they were standing in a dark corridor, pressed almost to the smooth wall as they listened to the conversation taking place in the small cave up ahead. Deep in the mountain, the out-of-the-way niche seemed to many like an excellent place to discuss business that you might not want anyone else to overhear, and indeed it was. With one...small exception.

Nori had taken the time to alter the curve of the walls here to make sure that sound carried out of the little cavern to one particular place where an observer could stand and hear everything that was said. He had made certain not to advertise his...improvements...and had learned a great deal of interesting information there over the years as a result.

The current conversation was no exception. Whether or not it was related to their missing King, he had yet to determine.

“-easy enough to pass off as trade negotiations,” insisted one dwarf, male, his accent indicating a likely standing in the lower-middle class of the Mountain, rather than the nobility.

“You don’t understand! _Any_ outside connections are suspect right now, even the legitimate ones!” That was another dwarf, voice a bit more ambiguous, but likely from a higher social standing than the first speaker.

“The offer won’t last forever!” insisted the male dwarf. “If he wants to take advantage of it, the coun-”

“Our _mutual friend_ ,” hissed the other dwarf warningly, “is feeling a bit risk-averse at the moment. Suspicions are running high, as I said, and he has a particular need to be cautious.”

“Fine,” the male dwarf said, clearly exasperated but unwilling to argue further, “but don’t blame it on me if opportunities pass our _mutual friend_ by because he hasn’t got the stones to act when he needs to.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that on to him,” sneered the other dwarf. “Now, I think it would be wise if we went on our way.”

Nori quickly gestured Dwalin back around the corridor, both of them moving as silently as they could until they reached a special little niche that the thief had also created many years back. Shoving Dwalin in first, Nori squeezed in after him and twisted lithely around to face the opening. The niche was carefully crafted to be almost invisible to anyone walking this direction from the small chamber, and even coming the other way it appeared to be a fold in the natural rock of the mountain that created a shadow on the wall, rather than a small opening with space for a dwarf inside. 

As expected, first the male dwarf and then the other passed swiftly by in close succession. In the dark and with their haste, Nori was not able to get more than a glance at their profiles, but it would be enough to get along with. Mirrors that could look into the small cavern would have been more convenient, but due to their nature, he had yet to design a system that would allow him to see in from the outside without the mirrors also being visible to those using the cavern for a private discussion. The spymaster was unwilling to give his game away so obviously as that.

When he at last relaxed and slipped out of the niche, Dwalin was quick behind him.

“Why give up yer secrets to me just like that?” he asked, eyes narrowing at Nori. He could be unfortunately quick at inconvenient times.

“Protection, of course,” Nori told him, grinning, “in case they caught us.” 

Dwalin scowled properly then, disbelieving and unimpressed. “Ye’re perfectly capable of looking after yerself.”

The erstwhile spymaster stared up the corridor after the retreating conspirators, allowing the mirth to slip away. He had not really let himself think about it before going to get Dwalin, had just headed for the warrior’s rooms as soon as his informant had told him there was a conversation that he needed to hear.

“Just in case,” he said quietly then, allowing himself to identify the reason. 

Dwalin continued to scowl, though it somehow morphed into something more worried than annoyed.

They were playing a dangerous game, perhaps the most dangerous one of all. Thorin might have been kidnapped, but Nori very much doubted that his kidnappers planned to return to him to Erebor hale and whole. 

He doubted they planned to return Thorin at all, which meant that a king-killer walked amongst them, in intent if not in direct deed. Anyone willing to so betray their king would not hesitate to dispose of anyone caught sniffing around too closely at their private affairs. 

Dwalin knowing about his little tricks might be a bit inconvenient for future personal dealings, Nori supposed, but that was a faint concern in his mind. He had not lied to Fíli when he had told the Crown Prince that these days, Company business outweighed his own.

If anything should happen to him throughout the course of this investigation, he wanted Dwalin to have at least some ability to keep going. Nori was far better suited to this job and he was hardly going to give up all of his secrets. But with the possibility of being silenced looming over him, he felt a bit better for knowing that someone else could have a chance, if the worst should happen to him.

“That enough to be getting on with, then?” Dwalin asked gruffly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Any help?”

“Mm,” Nori hummed in agreement, and started sauntering up the corridor, hearing the warrior move into step beside him. “Definitely enough to be getting on with, too soon to tell if it will really be useful. But, I do believe that someone on the council is doing something they shouldn’t be, so it might be a starting point, at least. Don’t you worry more on it for now.”

The warrior let out a frustrated huff, but let it go. 

They parted ways shortly after getting back up into Erebor proper, and Nori headed off to slip back into his cell. It had its inconveniences, but having most think that he was constantly locked up had been more useful than he had originally supposed.

Now at least he had a lead to follow, even if it might not be directly related to Thorin’s kidnapping. 

_Can’t count on striking gold in the first seam,_ Nori consoled himself with the old miners’ saying he’d heard so many times from Bofur. He would just have to follow up as many leads as he could find, and sooner or later one of them would get him to the information they desperately needed.

Safely enclosed behind iron once again, Nori settled down to think.

\--

“I’ve never been this far south before,” Bilbo said, eyeing the empty lands around them somewhat skeptically. Not that it was unpleasant land, precisely, but the spring rains made it dull and dreary, and with scarcely any settlements since they had passed south of Tharbad, there was not much to look at. Not past the first few miles, anyway.

The North-South Road was the only break in an otherwise scrubby land with only low rises for variation in the terrain. The Misty Mountains were visible to the east on clear days, but it had been raining for the past three. Their ponies plodded steadfastly along in spite of it, but Bilbo had not grown to love traveling whilst soaking wet any more now than he had a decade earlier.

“Aye,” Gimli agreed, pulling his own cloak closer around him. “My cousins, the Princes, went out as guards with some of the trade caravans from Ered Luin, before King Thorin led you to take back Erebor, and they came this way a few times. Kíli said that the land itself was not very inspiring.”

“It is pleasant enough on the nice days,” Bilbo allowed, sighing, “but I suppose some rain is to be expected at this time of year. What about yourself? Your father indicated that you were only just too young to come on the Quest with us, but did you go out on other assignments at all?”

“Not as often as I would have liked,” Gimli grumbled, with what seemed to be a certain amount of good-natured amusement at his younger self. “I was furious that Father would not let me come with you, but in truth I was not ready yet. My cousins are older than I by a decade and more, and even that amount of time does matter when one is practicing to be a warrior. I accompanied my mother on trading runs to places nearby to Ered Luin, but nothing more until after the Mountain was reclaimed. I have been serving as a guard for the caravans going back and forth between Ered Luin and Erebor for the past five years now, but we’ve had no cause to come this way with the passes over the Misty Mountains safer again for travel.”

Bilbo nodded. Gimli was brash in certain ways, just as Gloin was, but he seemed to have inherited his father’s sharp mind as well as his temper. 

“This land has its own kind of beauty,” the young dwarf went on. “If the rain lifts even a little, the hills are soft grey and lavender, quite different than the greener shades under sunlight. But we dwarrow are not made for these flat lands and low hills. Give me mountains and caverns, any day!”

He was well-spoken, too, which Bilbo suspected he might have as much from his mother as his father. The hobbit smiled, and nodded in agreement. 

“When the rain is thick like this, though, it is hard to see much of anything.” He hesitated only for a moment and then said, “Erebor was beautiful.”

“Ah, Erebor!” Gimli sighed longingly. “I may have grown up in Ered Luin, Master Baggins, and it is undoubtedly a fine dwarrow settlement. But Erebor! It became my home very quickly, and I regret it not at all. Truly, I do not have the words to thank you for your part in reclaiming it. And you will only have seen it in ruin!” He shook his head. “You must come back with us, of course, after we have rescued His Majesty, and see the Mountain now that it is restored to its full glory.”

“I- I would like to,” Bilbo allowed truthfully, and swallowed back further words. There was no need to burden Gimli with his doubts and uncertainties. He would have the chance to ask Thorin in person if he minded or not (any other outcome of this journey was not something Bilbo could bring himself to contemplate), and that would clear up the issue once and for all. He nodded, mostly to himself, but repeated, “Yes, I would certainly like to see the Lonely Mountain again.”

“Tell me-” the hobbit started to say, paused, and then went ahead. He wanted to know, even if it might make the ache of the last ten years worse.

Even if he might never see it again.

“Tell me about it,” he finished firmly in response to Gimli’s questioning glance. “About Erebor, as it is now.”

This was a task that the young dwarf took up happily, and his loving descriptions of his home, family, and friends ate up many miles and even seemed to make the rain a bit less chill than it had been before. Thorin had spoken of Erebor thus, on their journey, detailing it for Bilbo until he could nearly see it...

Bilbo drank it in, every word, and did not pull himself out again until the slowly-lifting veil of clouds revealed a dark speck that seemed to be headed their way. Frowning, Bilbo watched it long enough to be certain that it was indeed a bird, and that its course had not veered from them before he interrupted Gimli.

“Is that one of the ravens, do you suppose?”

Gimli squinted up where the hobbit’s finger pointed. “Yes,” he said as the bird grew closer, “the shape of the tail is-”

Bilbo did not learn what it was about the tail, for abruptly the bird stooped into a dive and was back-winging to a rushed landing on Gimli’s hastily raised arm.

It was indeed a raven, large and midnight-black, cocking its head this way and that as though checking their identities before cackling harshly in its own tongue. 

Gimli and Bilbo had just time to exchange one perplexed glance before the raven spoke again, this time in rough but understandable Westron.

“Filthy ones have crossed river,” she (for the raven’s voice was notably female, though Bilbo couldn’t quite have said how) croaked. The hobbit didn’t think that he was imagining distress in her voice and manner either. “Taking King west. Do not stop.”

“We will find them,” Gimli promised her immediately, “and we will give the filth what they deserve for touching our King, and then we will make sure that he is well.” 

The raven cawed harsh agreement in her own language, and then launched herself skyward, heading south and east. 

“She seemed...upset,” the hobbit offered quietly when Gimli only stared after her with a worried frown.

“I do not know the ravens very well myself,” the young dwarf admitted, “though we are cousins of the Royal family and have some dealings with them. But I believe that was Kuhak, and I know that she and Thorin have grown close over the past few years. I am not surprised that she is out trying to find him.”

Bilbo felt something in his heart clench tight and painful at those words, and thought that he knew how Kuhak felt, to have Thorin lost to the mercy of those who meant him ill...and the greater pain of helplessness. 

“It must be terrible, to know exactly where he is,” Bilbo couldn’t help whispering, “and be able to do nothing about it. She can only watch until her land-bound allies can reach him.”

“Yes,” Gimli agreed gruffly, still clearly distraught over Kuhak’s mood.

“Why are they bringing him west?” Bilbo whispered, knowing it was the question on everyone’s mind...and moreso now that Thorin’s kidnappers had crossed the Anduin, rather than taking the river south. Did they mean to bring him all the way to the coast and thence to some other, less savory land by ship?

“I don’t know,” Gimli said, still gruff with his frustration, “but we must get to them before they reach their destination.”

Bilbo nodded determinedly. If their destination was the coast, then that should be no hardship, as he and Gimli were not so far from the Gap of Rohan, and Thorin’s captors would yet have all of that country to cross, heading straight for the hobbit and dwarf as they did.

If the coast was not their destination, though...

Bilbo set his jaw and swallowed away the myriad worries that rose with that thought. They would cross that bridge when they came to it, and there was little point worrying on it without more information. Surely Kuhak would come with more information if she had even the slightest hint that they were headed somewhere in particular.

He looked to Gimli, and received a grim, determined nod in response. In unspoken agreement, they spurred their ponies to try and go a bit faster on the muddy road, and pressed on in a much sobered mood.

\--

Tired, dirty, and hungry (although at least no longer thirsty), Tauriel stood on the eastern bank of the Anduin.

Thorin and his kidnappers had clearly had some kind of help waiting for them, in order to be able to cross the river, but whatever vessel they had used was nowhere to be seen, even for her keen eyes. 

With a deep, slow breath, Tauriel contemplated the silt-heavy waters of the river, now swollen with the spring rains.

No one, she knew, would blame her for turning back now. Alone, with no vessel and little enough food remaining, the sensible thing to do would probably be to retreat north to the Greenwood, and then on to her own people and Erebor to see Kíli again. The ravens had located Thorin’s captors and were keeping an eye on them, and had told her that other allies were moving to intercept them from the west.

Giving up now sat ill in her heart. 

Able to go with less sleep than the Men, she had gained on them once the trail had resolved itself, eating up a day or more of their lead until the Anduin had presented itself as an obstacle. 

Another slow, deep breath, and Tauriel made up her mind.

As strained as their relationship was at times, Tauriel had grown to like Kíli’s uncle, and did not wish to abandon him to whatever fate he was inexorably being dragged towards. This breach of a peace that had been hard-won for all of them should not be left to stand unanswered.

She struck out north along the shore, determined to find a place where she might attempt a crossing.

\--

The road, while rough, had given Thorin a chance to recover somewhat from the illness caused by the river. He forced down every scrap of food and water his captors gave him, grasping at anything that might keep up his strength. When shut into the barrel, he rested as best he was able.

Then they came to another river.

Thorin no longer had any idea where they might be, or which direction they had come. He still prayed that help might be coming, but could not count on an ally reaching him in time. The men were eager to reach their destination; it was unclear if their silence on where that was stemmed from discretion or ignorance. Thorin suspected the latter, but either way he could pick up no useful information by listening in.

He could see that the raft meant to take them across this river was a crudely-built thing, flat and with no rails. Likely it had been recently assembled for the purpose, and possibly would be disassembled again on the other side, so as to leave less of a trail. They loaded the barrels full of goods and the King Under the Mountain onto the raft after a brief rest, and struck out for the opposite shore. 

By chance and inattention, Thorin’s barrel was near the edge, rather than in the middle. 

The opportunity this presented him was not one that he liked, but at this point he was desperate enough to make the attempt.

Gathering his strength, he threw himself at the side of the barrel, doing his best to shift and tip it toward the edge of the raft. The barrel moved, and then moved again, and Thorin kept at it, easing back and then throwing himself forward. If he could just move it far enough...

The barrel tilted...and plunged into the river.

Shouts had gone up from his captors, though, and something _thunked_ into the barrel in the next moment. Thorin, already wet and cold, wrenched himself around inside the barrel in an attempt to move it further away from the raft, but it quickly became clear that one of the men had acted too quickly to secure it.

The barrel was hauled back towards the raft, and Thorin eventually resigned himself to the fact that he would not succeed in escaping. 

Not this time.

Grim determination got him through the furious retribution the Men inflicted on him once they reached the opposite shore. Afterwards, shut back in the barrel, breathing slowly through the pain and shivering, Thorin allowed himself a handful of exhausted tears.

 _Let someone come,_ he prayed, thinking longingly of home, of his beloved Mountain and wondering once more if he would ever see it again. _Please, let someone come for me. I want to go home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tails: One quick way to tell crows and ravens apart is that crows have fan-shaped tails, while ravens' tails are wedge-shaped.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and/or comments! I really appreciate the support. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations, and I have started chapter 4, though I cannot make promises about when it will be finished. Hopefully after not too long! :D


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori puts more plans into place, Fíli is still trying to keep Erebor running steadily, and Bilbo, Gimli, and Tauriel close in rapidly on Thorin and his kidnappers. It remains to be seen if they will be in time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks as always to [leathansparrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leathansparrow/pseuds/leathansparrow) for beta-ing!

More than a month had passed by the time they made it through the Gap of Rohan, with rain slowing them more frequently than either Bilbo or Gimli were happy with. 

They had more cause to be thankful for the weather when Kuhak returned, bearing news that Thorin’s kidnappers had been held up for many days on the eastern shore of the Entwash. The river was high with the spring rains flooding out of the mountains, and only in the past day had the waters dropped enough to make a crossing safe. They had passed over just to the south of Fangorn Forest, but had not turned into the trees.

Kuhak was even more agitated than she had been during her first visit, but also visibly determined to get them the information that they needed.

“It sounds like we will meet with them shortly then,” Gimli said, “as long as they continue west.”

“Showed no signs of turning,” Kuhak croaked, bobbing agreement on the dwarf’s shoulder. They stood next to Bilbo, poring over one of the hobbit’s maps. If Kuhak was right about the timing and the distances, then they indeed had only a few more days before they would be able to intercept the group and rescue Thorin.

Bilbo tried not to let the relief overwhelm him, hope and continued fear mixed up tightly in his chest. There was much that could still go wrong, but it seemed that their long, wet ride had not been in vain. He traced their likely route with a finger. They would cross the Fords of Isen in the morning, the river here high but just passable, and then they would have a straight run up to the northeast across the western plains of Rohan, passing south of Isengard and angling for the Forest. 

“How many of them were there?” Bilbo asked then, eyes fixing on the likely area where they would have to attempt Thorin’s rescue. Cover beyond that of the largely open plains would be beneficial, and he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at the small patch of dark trees that marked Fangorn Forest on his map.

“A score,” Kuhak said, ruffling her feathers, “all with weapons.”

Bilbo and Gimli exchanged a glance.

“I am no fighter,” Bilbo said, though his hand crept to Sting’s hilt all the same, the little sword a comfortable weight at his side.

“I am fighter enough for both of us, like as not,” Gimli said, and it was no arrogant youngling’s boast, but the confidence of someone tested in battle. “But there is the issue of getting His Majesty to safety. Much as I will welcome the chance to give these pieces of filth their just dues, the King is our primary concern.”

“He sickens,” Kuhak croaked, agitated again, and shuffled back and forth on Gimli’s shoulder. “Weak. Kept in barrel.”

Hot anger and cold fear warred in Bilbo’s stomach. From the look on Gimli’s face, the young dwarf fared no better.

“Leave the sneaking to me,” the hobbit said, and his hand shifted from Sting’s hilt to his pocket, where his lovely little ring lay secured with its chain. 

Kuhak left in a swoop of midnight wings. With darkness coming on, Bilbo and Gimli made camp, then settled down to do what planning they could. Bilbo, knowing sleep would likely not come this night, offered to take first watch.

Gimli’s soft snores soon came from the other side of their small fire, but Bilbo stared away from the light. His eyes fixed unseeing at the darkness to their northeast, he turned the ring over and over in his hand.

Soon.

\--

Nori sat back in his chair, sipping his ale and doing his best not to be impatient. Any hint of anything unusual, and this meeting would be very short. Seeing as it was the best lead he’d yet had, he really didn’t want to lose it.

All but two members of the royal council had some kind of dealings outside of Erebor, with varying degrees of legitimacy. Nori’s suspicions had leaned towards the council from the beginning, and the work he and his network had done since Thorin’s disappearance all seemed to confirm it. 

The trick was figuring out which one of them was the real culprit. He found the two council members without those exterior ties almost as suspicious as the others, and was still doing some digging about them...but the kidnapping absolutely could not have been accomplished without outside connections and help, so the other four councilors were currently at the top of his list.

If tonight’s meeting went smoothly, then it should set up the last piece of information that he needed to figure out which one had done it.

A few moments later, a dwarf in roughspun working clothes made her way to the table with an ale. “Nali, son of Tali?” she asked, and settled herself in the opposite chair at Nori’s nod of confirmation. With his hair dyed dark and down in a simple plait along his back, he looked little like himself. Sometimes simple changes were the best ones.

“I hear that it might be possible to make some friends in a westerly direction,” Nori said after they had enjoyed their ale in silence for a bit.

“If you have something to offer, that might be possible,” the dwarrowdam replied quietly, still focused on her ale.

Nori slid a small pouch of gold across the table to her. He didn’t love parting with good coin, but knew it was necessary sometimes in this line of work. 

Plus, he had plenty more. 

He held back the grin that thought always produced. The Company might not actually have ended up with a whole fourteenth of Erebor’s treasure each, but they were nevertheless all very wealthy dwarrow.

“Hm,” said the other dwarf, and slid the pouch out of sight. “I’m listening.”

“I have some goods that need...transportation,” Nori told. “Good stuff, out of Dorwinion, so it will have to be handled with care. I hear that the markets to the west are more open than those of our nearer neighbors.” 

“You’ve heard rightly. There are some Men who’ve developed a taste for more...exotic goods, now that trade is flowing well from the East again. When do you need it moved? Short-notice might be difficult.”

“I’d rather do it sooner than later, but I’ve got some flexibility. It’s in a safe place for now.” He took another pull of his ale, both of them still affecting casualness. “Twenty crates. How much?”

She mulled it over, eyeing him over the rim of her own mug, then named a price that made Nori wince and then grimace, even though he had already known about what it would be (as would any black market trader worth their gold).

“That much?” 

“The roads that are safe are not always smooth,” she said, shrugging. “Delicate goods require more careful handling, takes more time.”

“Fine,” Nori grumbled, only partly feigned. He pulled out several more pouches, sliding them to her one at a time. He had (luckily and barely) brought enough. She would not consent to meet again, or even to take money from a drop-point, as that was much too easy a way to get caught.

Gold changing hands anonymously in a randomly chosen tavern like this one...that was safer.

A risk the dwarrowdam was not able to avoid, however, was the fact that gold was not anonymous...not when it had passed through Nori’s hands, at least. And since he happened to be acquainted with someone rather high up the hierarchy in the Royal Treasury...he would know, ultimately, whose hands that gold had passed through. That would tell him which councilor had these wonderful friends in the west, who were willing to move “delicate” goods over “safe” roads, for a very hefty price.

Such as the price one might pay to move a kidnapped king.

Satisfied with her payment, Nori and the dwarrowdam shook on their deal, and she rose and left soon after draining the last of her ale. Nori settled back with another pint of his own, knowing he had enough time yet before he needed to be back in his cell.

Men out to the west wanting...exotic goods, and not through the usual channels of Gondor or Rohan. That meant Dunland, for that was the only other area where Men settled in numbers. Of course, ships could leave from the Dunland coast without accounting to Gondor’s tax collectors, and might berth at any number of points south and east.  
Dunland. Why should anyone in Dunland want to kidnap the King of Erebor? Nori’s last news from their allies indicated that that was where Thorin’s kidnappers were headed, moving straight across Rohan, definitely not turning south to Edoras or anywhere the Rohirrim gathered in numbers. 

That was the one part of this that still made no sense to the spymaster, and he didn’t like it. The motives of a dwarf who wanted a strong king removed from the throne he could fathom. But who was on the other end of this scheme? A _kidnapping_ made sense only if there were someone out there who needed Thorin for something, and it was long past the point where that might have been a ransom. 

It was possible, he supposed, that ultimately some faction of those dwarrow who had remained in Ered Luin were responsible for this, and using Men as a cover in order to get Thorin west without suspicion falling on them. But what purpose would it serve? If they meant only to kill him and get rid of him, then the long journey made little sense. Was this a matter of personal revenge? Could someone possibly feel that wronged by Thorin having left the Blue Mountains, or by his retaking Erebor? Or was it truly a drawn-out ransom that could not be completed until they had His Majesty in hand? 

Sensible answers to any of those questions were not forthcoming.

He had no choice but to keep pursuing things on this end, then, since the other was still beyond his grasp.

\--

Tauriel missed the forest, but the Wold of Rohan at least made for easy running. Water and things to eat were not so scarce here as they had been in the Brown Lands, and so she was once again able to pick up speed.

Crossing the Anduin on a very makeshift raft made of a couple of large logs had been draining, and she had been forced to rest for nearly a full day after in order to regain her strength. She chafed at the delay, but knew it would be better to start out rested than to try and push through such exhaustion.

But their luck seemed to be turning, for Rarc had come to her that very morning with word that Thorin’s kidnappers were now the ones held up, the waters of the River Ondlió too high for safe passage.

Encouraged and determined now to help with Thorin’s rescue, Tauriel let her feet fly over the plains of Rohan, following swift behind dark raven wings.

\--

“Our apologies again that the Guildmaster was unable to come today, Your Highness,” Ingi son of Hugi said as he rose from his seat. “Thank you for seeing me instead.”

“Thank you for bringing your guild’s concerns to me so promptly,” Fíli replied, nodding in answer to the other dwarf’s bow, “and for your understanding about the current circumstances. I will ease the extra checks on external trade as soon as possible.”

“Of course we understand that every possible measure must be taken to try and find His Majesty, as well as those who perpetrated this treason,” Ingi said, frowning, “but the Guildmaster thought you should be aware that it is taking a harder toll on some of the guilds and most of the merchants.”

“I hope that the information we need will be found and the traitors arrested soon,” Fíli agreed without giving any indication that he knew anything at all, “and I will be able to ease the restrictions.” 

Ingi bowed again, and saw himself out.

Fíli sighed and leaned back in the chair at Thorin’s desk. It wasn’t quite the style he preferred, and when it was actually time for him to become King, he rather thought he would replace it. It was (hopefully) not that time yet, though, and he would much rather sit in the slightly uncomfortable chair for now if it meant that he might have his uncle returned soon.

He also regretted that the needs of the Crown and this investigation were causing real issues for so many innocent dwarrow trying to go about their work, but such treason could not be ignored. The ability to monitor the connections and trade that left the Mountain were an important part of Nori’s current sources of information, and he did not yet have the answers they needed.

Soon, he had assured the Crown Prince at their most recent meeting, soon.

Soon. 

Fíli took a deep breath, and reached for his next stack of paperwork. The matter of a potential marriage had, predictably, stalled the Council out for some weeks and was only just now starting to wrap up into the stage of Fíli contemplating his options and deciding on a few of the nominated dwarrowdam to meet with. He could stretch _that_ part of things out for several months at least, so it wasn’t an immediate concern, and gave him some breathing room.

Unfortunately, the Council would soon be returning to other matters, and he would have to go back to walking the span between showing too much of his own mind and strength as the Crown Prince, and not showing enough.

Forcefully, Fíli reminded himself that the limited news they’d had from the pursuers in recent weeks had been promising, and that every day friends and allies drew closer to Thorin.

If only he could be sure that they would arrive in time...that they were not already too late.

The Crown Prince bent over his paperwork, swallowing hard against the fear that would not abate until he was sure that his uncle was safe.

\--

With Kuhak’s help, they were able to sneak inside the edges of Fangorn Forest before they would have become visible to their enemies. 

Gimli was not fond of the Forest, and it gave Bilbo a similar, unsettled feeling as the Old Forest in Buckland did. The cover of the trees was a boon they sorely needed right now, though, so neither complained, but pressed ahead through the trees as the afternoon lengthened. They did not need to go deep, only just far enough that they could not be seen from the plains.

Kuhak was waiting for them ahead, perched on a branch to let them know that they had come far enough, and were now within easy reach of Thorin and his kidnappers as soon as they left the trees.

“Don’t like forest,” the raven said of Thorin’s kidnappers, “but don’t go too far away.”

“I wonder if they know of or fear pursuit,” Bilbo mused, frowning. “Else why cling to the tree line? If they are pressing west, then the fastest route would be a straight path down to the Fords. The only place they will get heading this way is Isengard, and I don’t believe anyone lives there but a wizard!”

“Well, we are here now, and they will not move again this night,” Gimli said, shaking his head. “That is enough for me.”

“True,” Bilbo agreed, putting the matter out of his mind for now.

They ate a little and drank from a small, clear stream as the light began to fade. Kuhak made a careful trip to the edge of the forest and back, telling them the layout of the camp as best she could, and which barrel that she thought Thorin was being kept in.

“All same,” she croaked, obviously displeased, “hard to tell apart when moved around so much.”

“That is probably purposeful,” Bilbo told her, grimacing in sympathy, “in case they were being watched or followed.”

Kuhak ruffled her feathers agitatedly, then subsided, keeping quiet as the hobbit and the dwarf laid out their options. Once they were agreed on the plan of attack that seemed best, there was little to do except wait for full dark and rest as best they could.

The plan was a simple one, because that was most likely to succeed, and because between the three of them they didn’t have the resources for anything else. 

Waiting until night had truly fallen and the kidnappers had settled in for their rest, Bilbo then collected water from the stream into their cooking pot and slipped on his wonderful ring. Invisible, it was easy enough to slip past the Men standing guard, and pick his way carefully through to their fire.

He upended the full pot over the fire, dousing it immediately and sending up a great plume of steam and smoke into the darkened camp.

“ _Baruk khazad! Khazad ai-menu!_ ” 

Roaring a battle-cry, Gimli burst into the camp, and let his axe do its grisly work with relish. His eyes being better adapted for seeing in the dark than those of the Men, he was able to take out several of the guards quickly. He was also more than ready to face those who stumbled blindly to their feet, struggling out of sleep. 

Bilbo drew Sting, though he focused on making his way over to the barrels without interference, only lashing out as needed to protect himself. Keeping the ring on was largely protection enough, though, since the Men were utterly focused on Gimli. The young warrior ran quickly around the camp to get rid of the guards, and this along with the dousing of the fire and the few injuries that Bilbo inflicted had succeeded in confusing them about how many opponents were actually attacking them.

The ruse did not last long, of course, but it helped, and the men were down half their numbers in those first, precious moments.

After that, though, there were still ten left, and Gimli had no cover with which to protect his back. The barrels might have served, but he had deliberately placed himself the opposite way, in order to give Bilbo more time to work without being noticed.

“...five, six, seven,” the hobbit muttered to himself as he counted off barrels, aiming for the one that Kuhak thought Thorin was trapped in. He tried not to be distracted by the sounds of battle, worried about Gimli being surrounded and overcome...

He reached the barrel, and knocked on the side of it, listening quickly before stand and trying to get the top off. A lack of a response meant nothing, since Thorin would not be able to respond if he was hurt or severely ill.

(Or dead. Bilbo firmly told his mind where to stuff it, and pried harder at the barrel lid.)

With the aid of Sting as a pry-bar, he finally wrenched the lid up enough to see and feel that Thorin was not in this barrel, and the worry in his stomach knotted up tighter. He stared at the cooper’s mark stamped onto the outside of the barrel in despair for half a breath before turning to the next barrel and prying determinedly at that lid. If he had to search every cursed barrel in the camp, then that was what he would do.

Another roar from Gimli turned his eyes back to his companion, though, and it was clear that the young warrior was losing ground, drawing further away from the camp in an effort to keep from being surrounded. A dark shape diving from above indicated that Kuhak was doing her best to provide a distraction, but the number of Men around Gimli was still too many for Bilbo’s liking, and he hesitated. With the ring on, he could probably get to a couple of them before they could figure out where he was-

But Thorin-

He was saved from his dilemma when an arrow flew out of the darkness and slammed into one of the Men, felling him instantly and badly startling his fellows.

Bilbo whirled immediately back to the barrels. If their unexpected ally was an elven archer as seemed to be the case, then Gimli now had all the help he needed and Thorin was Bilbo’s first priority.

The next barrel did not hold the dwarf king either, nor the next...but as he was trying his fourth barrel, Bilbo heard a weak banging from inside another and immediately moved to get the lid off of that one instead.

“Thorin!” he gasped when he had finally wrenched the lid fully off, and could see that it was indeed his friend curled up weakly inside this barrel. 

Thorin’s eyes darted around in confusion, and Bilbo remembered to pull the ring off his finger, almost dropping it in his haste. Panic surged through him, and he made sure to return it safely to his pocket before reaching for Thorin.

“Bilbo!” Thorin gasped as the hobbit appeared above him, his voice a hoarse rasp. He took Bilbo’s offered hand and tried to rise, but Bilbo realized that his strength was not enough to get Thorin upright with the dwarf so weakened.

“We have to get you out of there,” the hobbit fretted, wondering if he could push the barrel over, but not wishing to cause Thorin any further harm. Even curled up as he was, he looked thin and pale, and it was clear that he was not well.

“It’s- You came- I can-”

“You must not stay in there another moment!” Bilbo insisted, anger and relief and renewed worry making his heart clench painfully.

“Nor will he,” said a new voice, and he turned with relief to find that both Gimli and Tauriel (for it was none other than the Mirkwood archer who was their unknown ally) had come to join him by the barrel.

“Justice has been dealt,” Gimli assured them solemnly, so Bilbo dismissed any further thoughts of the kidnappers. 

With help from both Gimli and Tauriel, Thorin was out of the barrel in short order, and laid out gasping on the grass as blood returned painfully to his cramped limbs. Bilbo sat at his side, hovering and feeling useless, and Kuhak had landed at the dwarf’s other side, muttering to herself in Raven and combing her beak through Thorin’s lank hair, obviously displeased with its current state.

“It is good to see you again, my King,” Gimli said, bowing low to Thorin and getting a weak but grateful nod in return.

“And you, Gimli, Gloin’s son.”

“You are in safe hands now,” Tauriel told him. Another raven flew in and landed on her shoulder. “I will speak with Rarc and let him know all that has transpired so that he can set out with news for your family.”

“Thank you, Tauriel,” Thorin said, a cough catching at his throat but his eyes solemn on hers. The elf nodded gracefully and stepped away.

“Bilbo,” the dwarf king said then, turning his head and lifting a hand to seek the hobbit.

Reminded uncomfortably of Ravenhill and what he had been sure would be Thorin’s last moments, Bilbo hurriedly shifted to kneel at Thorin’s side and grasped his hand. “I’m here, Thorin. I’m here, and you’re going to be fine.” 

Thorin’s mouth quirked up in a slight smile at Bilbo’s firm tone, but then lapsed back into a look of wondering relief, his eyes roving over Bilbo’s face. He lifted his other hand, touching Bilbo’s cheek gently.

“Thrice,” he said, voice still rasping, “thrice already you have saved me, and now again. I know not how I will ever repay you...”

“No, Thorin,” Bilbo began, heart fluttering at the light touch on his face and clutching more tightly at Thorin’s fingers cradled in his. “There’s no need for-”

“I cannot repay you,” Thorin insisted, still gazing up at him with wonder, “but I am glad that you are here. I’m glad that you came. I’m glad to see you again. I’m glad-” A wide yawn cut him off, and Bilbo chuckled shakily. 

“Rest, Thorin. There will be plenty of time to talk later. Rest!” he insisted when Thorin would have gone on, only to be interrupted by another yawn. 

Apparently overcome at last, Thorin slept. Bilbo held onto his hand, and let the last wound in his heart begin tentatively to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baruk khazad! Khazad ai-menu! - Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!
> 
> I apologize for the extended delay between chapters! Life has been a bit hectic lately and it's been hard finding the time/energy to write in the evenings. :\ I hope that this one was worth the wait. Thorin is safe at last! Of course, there are many questions left for the company to try and find answers to, so a couple chapters left to wrap up. :D
> 
> Unfortunately, I cannot promise a quick update for the next chapter either, but I do have it started and I think it might come a little bit faster than this one did. Thank you all so much for reading/kudos/commenting! I really appreciate all of them!


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evidence has been uncovered and an arrest has been made...but do they have the right dwarf?
> 
> In Bag End, Bilbo and Thorin have other things on their minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! I didn't realize it had been quite so long since my last update. >.> My beta hasn't quite had time to read this one yet, but I though I would go ahead and post it anyway. I'll do updates once she does, or please let me know if you find any typos. 
> 
> Mind the tags, and enjoy!

With Rarc promising to set out for Erebor at first light, Tauriel found a good place away from the kidnapper’s former camp to build a fire of their own. The young warrior Gimli followed carefully with his sleeping King, and Bilbo Baggins hovered close at his side. The hobbit’s focus was solely on Thorin, and she did not suppose that he would have much desire to be involved in what they must do next.

A few quiet words with Gimli saw Thorin and Bilbo settled near the new fire, with Rarc and Kuhak perched close by to keep watch. The young dwarf then came with Tauriel back to the kidnapper’s camp to do some unpleasant but necessary clean-up. 

She was fairly certain that all the kidnappers had been slain, for it had been a short and furious battle, with no time or possibility for holding back. If there were clues to be found as to their destination, those needed to be found, and the sooner the bodies were dealt with the better. 

“Word should probably be sent to the Rohirrim,” Gimli said as they approached the scene of the battle, his thoughts obviously working along the same lines as hers, “to let them know what transpired here, and so that someone can see to the goods.”

It did appear that most of the barrels held actual trade goods, though Tauriel doubted that any part of this particular caravan had been legal. “Someone might as well get some use out of them,” she agreed. “We will turn loose any horses that we do not need in the morning, with a small note of explanation for whoever may find them. The people of Rohan will give good care to any horse.”

They started by checking the bodies of the dead, moving them into a pile that might be more easily burned. None of the Men seemed to carry anything that indicated their final destination, though, and it was with increasing frustration that Tauriel (and the young dwarf, she thought) carried out their grisly work.

When she went to shift the next body though, the man groaned in pain.

Startled, Tauriel nearly dropped him, but caught herself and called quickly for Gimli. The man twitched, as if trying to flinch away, but that only increased his pain.

It also brought him to greater alertness, and he tried to sneer at her when his eyes opened. Tauriel kept a tight hand on the back of his blood-soaked shirt, unwilling to chance that he might be less injured than he seemed. Gimli’s axe had done its work well, though, and she doubted that this one would be recovering. 

The young warrior joined her and stared down at the man with a stony expression common among dwarrow when they were trying to hide emotion.

“I would ease your passing,” Gimli said after a moment, “if you will tell us all you know.”

The man shifted his vague sneer towards the dwarf, but it subsided into another groan of pain. 

“We both know you won’t last until dawn,” the dwarf went on, factual, “but the hours until then will be unpleasant. You’ve little to gain by holding back.”

“Don’t know,” the man muttered at last.

“I don’t believe him,” Tauriel said immediately. The man must have known something, or at least had a guess. All of the men in the group had known about their captive, according to what the ravens had seen.

“Don’t!” he insisted weakly. “Don’t know. Didn’t tell us, not even th’ captain. Headed for meetin’ point south of that Isengard place. Tha’s all.” The man’s words started to slur, his focus slipping.

The elf and the dwarf were silent for a long moment, contemplating that. It was plausible that he knew no more than that. Obviously whoever was behind this would have passed on only the bare minimum of information necessary in order for the men to carry out their orders, while maintaining as much secrecy as possible.

“Kuhak will be reluctant to leave His Majesty’s side,” Gimli said at last, “but she may be willing to go watch to see if someone comes. Where was the meeting place to be?”

The man managed to mumble something a little bit more specific, enough to give the raven a general area to search. Tauriel knew little of the geography of this part of the world, but Gimli grimaced and accepted the explanation, so it must have meant something to him. 

“Leave it to me, then,” he told the archer. She hesitated, not liking to leave him with the messy job of finishing the man off, but he shook his head stubbornly and insisted. “’Twas my poor stroke that didn’t end him to begin with.”

Sighing (not for the first time, and undoubtedly not the last) over dwarrow stubbornness, Tauriel nevertheless smiled slightly at him and rose. She walked away, and did not look back.

None of the other kidnappers were still alive by the time she and Gimli got to them, but it seemed unlikely now that any of them would have known more. The rest of the camp yielded little else, though Gimli noted the cooper’s mark on the barrels – from a cooperage in Dale – with narrowed eyes.

Given how little information they still had, it seemed worth noting the smallest things, for they could not be sure what was a clue and what wasn’t. 

At last, they washed up as best they could in a nearby stream flowing out of the forest, and then rejoined Bilbo and Thorin by the fire. The king still lay deeply asleep, and the hobbit sat next to him, chin resting on his raised knees, seemingly watching the steady rise and fall of Thorin’s chest as he breathed.

“I’ll stay up awhile yet,” he said without looking away from the older dwarf, “so you should both get some rest.”

Gimli looked like he might have wanted to protest, but Tauriel stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. Bilbo needed time to reassure himself that Thorin was alive and well. It was a familiar feeling for the archer, who had felt much the same in the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies: constantly afraid that if she took her gaze away from Kíli, his next breath would be his last.

She reassured Gimli quietly that it would be all right, and at last he gave in when a huge yawn overcame him mid-objection. With Tauriel awake nearby, and the ravens taking turns keeping watch in the tree above, they would do well enough for guards for the night. She was a little bit tired, but not enough that she needed to sleep just yet.

The night remained peaceful, and eventually the fire burned low. Bilbo nodded off, jerked awake at a particularly loud snore from Gimli, and finally gave in, lying down to sleep facing Thorin, and tentatively reaching out one hand to rest in the dwarf’s, so that even in sleep he might be assured of Thorin’s presence nearby. Tauriel smiled, and watched the stars.

\--

Eyes closed, Nori pressed his ear to the side of the metal chest next to the lock as his hands worked the picks. 

Dwarrow locks were tricky, of course, but he wouldn’t be a very good thief if he couldn’t get them open. This one was better than most, and it had Nori grinning appreciatively at the challenge. The front door lock certainly hadn’t proved much of a barrier.

Slowly, steadily, his hands worked the four picks around until one by one the tumblers began to fall into place. Breathing quietly so that he would hear them, Nori kept his eyes shut and ignored any sensations of cramping elsewhere in his body. As long as his hands could do their work, nothing else mattered until the lock was open.

It was another long half-hour, the spymaster estimated, before a satisfying click finally signaled the opening of the lock. Nori withdrew his lock picks, immediately tucking them away inside a pocket, before allowing himself to sit back and stretch with relief. 

His marked gold had changed hands many times...but his patience was borne out in the end when Gloin had offered him a grim smile and a small piece of paper with a single name written on it.

Money in an account alone was not quite enough proof on which to accuse someone of high treason, and so Fíli had quietly asked if it were possible to get any corroborating evidence. Nori suspected that the Crown Prince’s willingness to wait could largely be accounted for by the news that Thorin was found and safe with their friends. Had Thorin still been missing, or not been alive when Bilbo, Gimli, and Tauriel rescued him...the spymaster was not sure what Fíli’s decision might have been.

Nevertheless, it was good to see the Crown Prince having a level head, and so Nori was taking the chance of being out of his cell during the day in order to get His Highness’ additional proof.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the now-open chest, and hoped that what he was looking for would indeed be here.

He had to go through the entire contents of the chest to find it, but right down at the very bottom, there it was: a receipt for two dozen large shipping barrels from a cooper in Dale. Nori withdrew the small slip of paper that Rarc had carried from Gimli and Bilbo, showing the cooper’s mark on the barrels that Thorin’s kidnappers had been hauling across Rohan.

They matched.

It was a unique mark, not similar to that of any other cooperage in Dale or Esgaroth. Eyes narrowing, Nori examined the paper closely. It seemed to be an original, though he would need to send someone for another directly from the cooperage in order to be entirely sure, and see if he could trace the movements of whoever had made and picked up the order. That would likely have been done anonymously of course, but he would still check. There was little room for error here. 

He carefully replaced all of the other contents of the trunk, and then began the painstaking process of re-locking it so that the owner would not be able to tell it had been opened in the first place. 

All in all thought, Nori thought as he made his way back out of the mansion, that had been remarkably easy.

Too easy?

Something niggled at the back of the spymaster’s mind. Unable to pin it down, he set it aside for now, and concentrated on what would need to be done next. They needed to identify the right dwarf, and get them locked away as soon as possible. Thus far, news of Thorin’s rescue had been kept quiet, but Fíli would need to make an announcement soon, and there was no telling what the traitor might try on learning that their plan had failed.

Nori slipped away into the corridors of Erebor, mind just slightly too occupied to notice that another figure emerged from the shadows near the mansion’s door, looked after the spymaster long enough to be sure that he was truly leaving, and then went the other way.

\--

It was such a relief to be out of that cursed barrel that Thorin could not find it in himself to dislike the wagon ride, as rough as it was over half-dried muddy roads.

He was regaining his strength quickly in the aftermath of his long imprisonment, having slept through the first few days, a low fever burning through him to chase out his illness. Rest and regular meals of sufficient (if not exciting) food had seen him mostly well by the end of the first week, but he still could not ride for long before exhaustion overtook his limbs again. There were only two ponies in any case, so mainly Thorin rode in the wagon, which Tauriel drove with ease after a little while getting to know the two horses that pulled it, and Bilbo and Gimli ranged alongside on the ponies, always staying near to hand.

Bilbo especially stayed close, and Thorin was grateful for it. He had not supposed that he would ever see his friend again, and to have Bilbo suddenly _here_ , so close and obviously caring, did things to Thorin’s heart. 

Things that made him feel something dangerously like _hope_.

He had hoped once before, when Bilbo had chosen to stay that first winter in Erebor and they had found their way slowly but steadily back to a good friendship. He had hoped that the lingering threads of something more than friendship were not solely in his own mind, and that Bilbo (who seemed to love Erebor more and more as it was brought back to life) might stay longer. Might stay forever.

The hobbit’s departure that following spring had not truly been a surprise. Not a surprise, but it had shattered his hope, and although Thorin had told himself that Bilbo more than anyone deserved his home and some peace after everything, that did not diminish the pain in his own heart at the loss of his friend.

He had ceased allowing himself to think of Bilbo as anything but a friend. 

Ten years then, with no direct words exchanged between them. Thorin did not blame Bilbo for that, since he himself could never quite find the right words when he sat down with the intention of writing to the Shire. Bilbo had made certain that the Company passed along all news of his life and well-being to Thorin, and the king had done the same and told himself that that was enough.

It hadn’t been, though, not really. It certainly was not enough now, not with the comparison of Bilbo here, not with the quiet conversation that flowed easily between them, eating up the miles and hours and taking Thorin’s mind quite away from all of his lingering aches.

It was more than just being out of the barrel that made the wagon ride so tolerable.

 _I will not keep silent this time,_ Thorin promised, watching Bilbo ride ahead to examine the potential campsite that Gimli had found for them. _When we reach Bag End, I will speak with him, make sure that he knows the truth about my feelings. Even if he does not return them, he deserves to have the truth._ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _If I am to risk losing him again, let it be by my words and not by my silence._

Silence had only left him with “what ifs,” and he could not do that again. 

_At Bag End,_ he affirmed, then readied himself to help with what he could as they set up camp along the road in the middle of Dunland, the land empty around them.

\--

Fíli took a deep breath, got a steadying nod from Dwalin, and drew himself up before calmly entering the room where he met with the council. Fortunately, his leg decided to cooperate today, and he was able to walk over to the head of the table with relative ease.

 _Uncle Thorin is safe,_ he reminded himself, letting the thought calm him, _he is safe and will soon be rested and on his way home. Time to see justice done before he gets here._

He accepted bows from all of the councilors and then let them seat themselves as usual. 

“Shall I begin with today’s agenda, Your Highness?” asked the head of the council, Ithunn. 

Fíli shook his head. “I have an announcement that I must make today. Two announcements, in fact.”

“Has Your Highness decided upon a potential bride?” put in Sórli, son of Bogi, apparently overeager to get to what Fíli had assumed would be the council’s main topic of discussion today. 

Fortunately, a raised eyebrow from himself and a warning cough from Ithunn were enough to have Sórli muttering apologies and subsiding to wait for the crown prince to speak.

“First, I have just received word that His Majesty King Thorin has been found and rescued, and is recovering with allies.”

A beat of shocked silence held the room before all the councilors burst into enthusiastic congratulations and relieved well-wishes for the King’s continued health. They all appeared genuine, Fíli thought, having not caught any faces that looked more upset than surprised by his news. He had sprung it on them deliberately at Nori’s recommendation to test their reactions, but whoever was responsible would (of necessity) be like tempered steel under pressure – able to bend and not break. 

One of them was lying.

“Thank you,” Fíli said after a moment, gesturing for them all to sit again. 

“How was it done, Your Highness?” asked Vagna, daughter of Yngva. “Can you tell us more?”

“In due time,” the crown prince said, secretly steeling himself. A discreet hand signal below the edge of the table told Dwalin and his men to be ready.

Fíli rose.

“The investigation as to who in Erebor is responsible for betraying the King to his kidnappers has proceeded even as the search to find him has,” the crown prince said calmly. “Evidence has come to light, and more clues arrived with the message from those who rescued His Majesty. We now know who the culprit was.”

The councilors were silent again, and Fíli did not think he was imagining a certain tension in the room. No one looked openly worried or anxious, but they seemed to sense that he was doing more than informing them of an arrest already accomplished.

“Ronni, son of Róli,” Fíli said, turning to look stone-faced at the councilor in question, “evidence has been presented to me linking you to the kidnapping of the King Under the Mountain. You are under arrest for high treason against the Crown of Erebor.”

The dwarf lord had gone stark white, and was staring at Fíli with stunned eyes. The other councilors gaped openly as well, their eyes wide. For once, none of them seemed to have anything to say.

“Y-Your Highness,” Ronni gulped, and abruptly fell to his knees in supplication, “I will not claim to you that I have done nothing against the laws of the Mountain, but I swear on Durin’s name that I had nothing to do with His Majesty’s kidnapping! Nothing!”

Dwalin and his men forced Ronni to his feet, and Fíli kept his face as stone.

“There will be a trial,” he stated, and Ronni slumped in defeat. There would be no summary execution without a further examination of matters, but he had the evidence that he had, and right now, all of it pointed to Ronni. The Crown Prince turned to Dwalin. “Take him to a secure cell, and see that he is well guarded.” Dwalin bowed, and eyed the rest of the councilors suspiciously before following after his men.

Fíli too looked at the rest of the councilors. They still stared at him in shock, Vagna with a concerned frown that seemed directed at him, and Ithunn with a pinched expression that was hard to identify. She was a political ally of Ronni’s, though, so it might have been concern for the potential fallout against herself.

Nothing new, no reaction that seemed out of place, and Fíli hated the unease that stirred in his gut, some niggling sense that they were missing something important. 

“I believe that will be all for today’s council meeting,” he said calmly. “I must announce my uncle’s safety and the arrest of the culprit to the rest of the Kingdom.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Ithunn murmured then.

Fíli left, keeping his pace slow so that it could be steady, and headed immediately for a meeting with the Company and his mother.

\--

“It feels wrong,” Fíli confessed to him in a whisper later that night, and Nori nodded in understanding. 

“It seems easy,” he agreed with the Crown Prince, “maybe too easy.”

“Some illegal trade connections and one piece of paper might be enough to convict a dwarrow of high treason,” Fíli went on, mouth tightening, “but his reaction was wrong. I would swear on Durin’s beard myself that he spoke the truth when he said he wasn’t involved in Uncle’s kidnapping. But if it is not him, then who is it? We have nothing else!” 

Nori nodded. He had watched the arrest from the shadows of the meeting hall, and was forced to admit that he agreed with Fíli. “Some dwarrow are just that good at acting, of course, but I’m inclined to agree with you, Yer Highness. We’ll dig again. Send word to yer uncle, ask him for any other information that he might have, any memories from the days leading up to the kidnapping. The littlest thing might be a clue.”

“Thank you,” the Crown Prince said, slumping a little at his desk. “I’m sorry. We probably should have waited on the arrest, but somehow it seemed more plausible this morning.”

“No worries, Yer Highness,” Nori assured him, “reactions can be evidence too, sometimes. Some time in a cell won’t hurt, so just delay doing anything permanent to him for a little bit. Shouldn’t take more than a few days.” He didn’t tell Fíli that he had continued to dig even after presenting the evidence that he had, but had not turned up anything new.

Maybe he hadn’t looked deep enough yet. Maintaining the semi-ruse of being under arrest had been useful, and had likely kept him safer throughout all of this than he might otherwise have been, but it was also limiting. Some work had to be left to other spies who (while handpicked by him and good at their work) did not have Nori’s own expertise in all areas.

Leaving Fíli with a bow, Nori set out to find his younger brother and Balin. Much as he hated paperwork, he was starting to suspect that that was where the evidence he needed was going to turn up.

\--

“Come on, elf,” Gimli said to Tauriel after dinner on their third day back in Bag End. “Let’s go see how this hobbit pub is.”

Tauriel had followed him out the door without complaint and with a soft smile for Bilbo, confirming his suspicion that he and Thorin were being given space.

Not that he minded being alone with Thorin, Bilbo assured himself quickly even as he continued to wipe down the plates, not at all. In fact, he probably felt as comfortable with Thorin as he ever had after all their long conversations on the road back from Rohan, covering everything from the daily goings-on of Erebor to at last making a full peace between them regarding what had happened with the Arkenstone and Thorin’s madness. Even now, the king was a silent, steady presence at his side with the drying towel. 

But there were words waiting, words hovering unspoken between them...and Bilbo was not quite sure where that conversation was going to lead. Back towards a solid friendship, he hoped! With Thorin so close and real and present in Bag End, though, the hobbit was having a difficult time telling himself that friendship was all he wanted from the dwarf.

Whether or not Thorin felt that way, he was much less certain.

They finished the dishes in silence, and although it was not exactly what Bilbo would call uncomfortable, not quite, it was certainly more...tense, perhaps, than things had yet been between them. 

In an attempt to either ease or ignore it, he set about making tea next, even though wine was a temptation. No, best to have a clear head for what was to come...whatever that might be.

 _I can always have something stronger later, if need be,_ Bilbo thought to himself somewhat pessimistically.

Thorin watched from the doorway of the kitchen with fondness and amusement, letting Bilbo fill the silence with meaningless chatter. He followed without protest when Bilbo headed for the sitting room, and accepted his cup of tea gratefully. 

“You said that some new trade routes were opening up to the southeast?” Bilbo asked then, determined that they could at least have a meaningful conversation, rather than his own nervous stream of words.

“Yes,” Thorin said, brightening a little as he always did when speaking of his kingdom’s successes. It was lightening and endearing to see, and eased Bilbo’s mind. In spite of the ordeal that he had recently undergone, Thorin seemed overall to be in good health both mental and physical, and moreso every day as he recovered further.

They drank their tea and spoke of the new trade routes. When he finished, Thorin set aside his teacup and then turned an earnest gaze on the hobbit, letting the previous conversation fade. Bilbo, suddenly sharply aware of the fact that they were alone in Bag End, swallowed and set his own cup aside as well. His face felt warm. What had he been thinking, building the fire so high at this time of year?

“Bilbo,” Thorin said then, and clasped his hands together on his knees, as if to keep them still. “Bilbo, I would speak with you.”

“You’ve been speaking with me,” the hobbit couldn’t help pointing out, the fluttering in his stomach sharpening his tongue more than he had intended. Thorin did not seem put off, but rather quirked his mouth in a smile and rose.

“I know,” he said, and crossed the space between them, holding out his hands. Bilbo took them, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

Thorin did not release his hands.

“Bilbo, I would speak plainly to you now, because silence has only ever served us ill in the past. I do not wish to make things strange between us, not when we have so newly recaptured our friendship, but my heart bids me speak and I cannot remain silent any longer.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, but it came out breathless, a plea rather than an admonition.

“I love you,” Thorin said simply, as if the words were not enough to stop Bilbo’s heart in shock and joy. “I love you, Bilbo Baggins, and being parted from you these ten years has been the only source of longing in my heart. I will understand if you do not feel the same, but-”

Quite without a conscious decision involved, Bilbo surged up and covered Thorin’s mouth with his own.

Thorin’s arms came around him in the next breath, and Bilbo found that his own hands had risen to tangle through Thorin’s thick, silvering hair, trying to hold the dwarf close even though Thorin made no move to draw away.

“Confound it, Thorin!” the hobbit gasped when at last the need for breath forced their mouths to part. “Confound _you_ , of _course_ I feel the same, how could I not love you-”

This time it was Thorin who surged forward with a broken sound and kissed Bilbo, deep and fierce and desperate. Bilbo clung to him again, clutching at his shoulders, winding his arms around the back of Thorin’s neck, standing on tiptoe to keep them as close as possible. The dwarf’s arms were strong around his waist and back, holding him tightly.

Thorin burned forge-fire hot, this close, and Bilbo felt an answering heat in his own blood, surging at all the places their bodies touched, even through several layers of clothing. He wasn’t sure he had ever _wanted_ anyone quite so much in all his life.

“Please,” he whispered when they next parted, scant inches between their lips, noses rubbing, “please, Thorin!” 

“Anything,” Thorin rumbled, his hands running over as much of Bilbo as he could reach with a tender possessiveness that left Bilbo moaning with desire and frustration. They were still stood in the sitting room, for goodness’ sake!

Forcing himself to breathe, and to think, Bilbo made the achingly difficult effort to pull away from his dwarf and step back just slightly, though he couldn’t bear to sever all connection between them, and let his hands slide down Thorin’s arms to his large, calloused hands. 

“Come to bed with me,” he asked, looking into Thorin’s darkened blue eyes and feeling no shame over the blunt request.

“Gladly,” Thorin replied, low and breathless.

The walk back to Bilbo’s bedroom passed in a blur, all of his attention focused on the touch of their hands together, the only contact between them. A tiny part of him wanted to worry that this was too much, too quickly...but the rest of him knew that they could neither of them wait. Not now, after ten years of longing and denied fantasies, not after weeks of living in close company...close, but not close _enough_.

Mind made up, Bilbo took charge once the bedroom door had close behind them. Thorin let him, seeming content to follow the hobbit’s direction as they wove through the dance of removing their own and each other’s clothing, piece by piece. Bilbo felt his previous urgency muted by a sudden need to be _deliberate_ about this. He wanted to remember every moment, every touch and look. 

At last they stood before each other, fully bared and half-aroused in the flickering light of the bedroom fireplace, and Bilbo let his eyes trace longingly over the lines of Thorin’s body, stocky and thickly-muscled. He seemed a bit thin, but Bilbo suspected that was probably due to several weeks of being stuffed into a barrel and then more weeks on the road after, rather than the dwarf’s usual state over the past decade. Thick hair covered much of Thorin’s skin, the dark strands now mixed liberally with silver, just as the hair on his head. His roughly-shorn beard was starting to grow in again, and it was this that Bilbo found himself reaching for first, his fingers lifting of their own accord to tangle carefully in the thick, smooth strands.

For his part, Thorin was observing Bilbo’s own short, plump form with open adoration, the look in his vivid blue eyes almost too much for the hobbit to accept even as it warmed his heart and heated his blood. Thorin leaned easily into Bilbo’s light tug on his beard, bending for a kiss, and they stood like that for long moments, their mouths joined in an easy caress, Bilbo’s hands on the dwarf’s jaw.

It felt right to Bilbo to ease into anything more. He let his hands slide down from Thorin’s jaw, to his shoulders, and then to his chest and back, feeling coarse hair and thick muscle and the heat low in his gut flared hotter. Thorin followed, his own large hands fitting to Bilbo’s hips, sliding forward to explore his soft stomach and then his back, drawing the hobbit slowly closer. The dwarf let out a noise that was half laughter, half groan when Bilbo boldly palmed his arse, and Bilbo grinned into their kiss as Thorin promptly took his own liberties. 

Bilbo closed the last space between them, gasping against Thorin’s mouth as their erections slotted next to each other. He couldn’t help rolling his hips into the sensation, savoring the dragging slide and making Thorin groan again and clutch more desperately at Bilbo’s back.

“Bed,” the hobbit mumbled then, for as pleasant as this was, they were still standing and he was not at all sure how much longer his knees were going to support that notion.

“Please,” Thorin said, and followed willingly as Bilbo drew away from their kissing and tugged him along. He slid into Bilbo’s bed just as easily, and seemed content to let Bilbo continue taking the lead as he joined the dwarf and tangled their bodies together again, bumping his nose against Thorin’s gently and letting his hands roam.

“What do- What do you like?” the hobbit panted, groping for the slick in his bedside table even as he thrust their erections together again, the dry, stuttering friction better than nothing. 

“Anything,” Thorin whispered, reaching eagerly for the little jar that Bilbo finally succeeding in getting onto the bed. “I’ve wanted this – wanted _you_ – for longer than I ever dared admit. _Anything,_ Bilbo.”

“ _Thorin,_ ” Bilbo gasped at this confession, and drew breath to make his own-

Large fingers, calloused from years of smithing and fighting, slick now with lotion, wrapped around both their erections, and Bilbo choked on his words, the lovely, exquisite friction driving them from his mind.

“ _Yes,_ Thorin, _oh!_ ” Bilbo gasped. “I- I wanted this too, wanted you _so badly-_ ”

Thorin groaned, and the hobbit felt his hips thrust up harder at the sound of it. Hoping to elicit more such noises, he let the words continue to spill from his lips. 

“All those- those last months of the journey, I couldn’t help but think of it, about how you would _feel_ if I could get up the courage to kiss you, to get off all those ridiculous layers you all wore, to _touch_ you,” he babbled, still letting his hands roam hungrily over everything he could reach of Thorin. “Wondered- Wondered what it would be like to be in bed with you, having you over me, or _under_ me.”

The dwarf was gasping now, his hips rising with equal fervor into his own grip around them both, half-bitten moans filling up the breathless spaces between Bilbo’s words. It was good to know that his long-harbored and long-denied fantasies appealed to Thorin as much as they did to him.

“Would you like that, Thorin? I- _aaah, yes_ -I think we could-could arrange that-”

“Mercy!” begged Thorin. “Anything, Bilbo, anything I said and meant...” 

“All right then,” Bilbo panted, and pulled back reluctantly, reaching for the slick again and ignoring Thorin’s pleading noise as their bodies parted. The hobbit moved off of Thorin and said, “Roll over.”

Thorin did, willing and compliant and it made something deep in Bilbo’s chest and gut go hot to see it. The _trust_ that implied, and the _love_ implied by that...

It made him want to take very, very good care of his lover.

Scooping out a generous dollop of slick, he urged the dwarf up onto hands and knees, and then smearing it liberally between his thighs. Even on a dwarf, Thorin’s skin was smooth there, with little hair and softer, and Bilbo couldn’t help a lustful groan at the feel of it. 

Thorin let out a low keen in response, and pressed his thighs together with no prompting when Bilbo reluctantly pulled his hand away. Draping himself over the enticing play of muscle in the dwarf’s back, Bilbo wasted no time sliding his erection into the gorgeously tight press of Thorin’s thighs.

“ _Ungh._ ” Words deserted him in that first delicious slide of pressure, aided by the needy sounds still falling from Thorin’s mouth. “Ooohhh, Thorin you feel _magnificent_...” Bilbo palmed Thorin’s arse with one hand while getting his slick-covered hand around the dwarf in order to grasp and stroke his erection in time with his thrusts.

He set a steady pace, as slow as he could stand (which wasn’t very slow), but Thorin only pushed back into the thrusts and then forward eagerly into Bilbo’s hand, which hardly helped his restraint.

“This- feels- so _good_ ,” Bilbo gasped out, hips snapping, “so good to...have you here...with me...in my bed...so tight around me....”

“ _Aah- nnn-_ ,” Thorin moaned, his own movement stuttering. “Bilbo, I’m- please, I’m- I need-”

“Yes, love, that’s it,” the hobbit said, leaning down to lick and nip at the broad planes of Thorin’s back, bringing his free hand up to tangle in Thorin’s hair, tugging gently at the lovely tangled mass of it. “Come on, Thorin, spill for me-”

Four more strokes and the dwarf obeyed, spilling over Bilbo’s hand with a loud cry, back arched hard with the force of his orgasm. The hobbit continued to thrust between his thighs, which had slackened some but soon pressed tightly around him again as Thorin regained his awareness. 

Bilbo let out a lusty groan and got both hands fitted around Thorin’s muscular hips, kneeling up a little to give himself better leverage as he let himself thrust hard and fast into the tight, slick heat between Thorin’s legs. It was just as wonderful as he had imagined, _better_....

Half-slurred, deep-voiced encouragement from his partner, rumbles of _Yes, Bilbo, feels good, want you to feel good, want to feel you come..._ sufficient to strike him suddenly with the realization that _Thorin was in his bed, in his arms_ and that was enough to tip him over the edge.

He came with a shout of his own, hips pumping through it until the slick press of muscle was too much and he was forced to pull away, limbs quivering with release and fatigue. He shuffled over enough to collapse at Thorin’s side, even as the dwarf slowly lowered himself down, the rippling muscles in his arms forcing another wanting groan out of Bilbo even though he was definitely spent for the time being.

They both lay quietly for a moment, breathing, gazes locked in silent adoration. At last, Bilbo reached for him, and Thorin moved willingly into his arms, burying his face against Bilbo’s shoulder and returning the embrace just as tightly. Bilbo nuzzled into Thorin’s hair, breathing in his lover’s scent, and realized that, for the first time in ten years, the ache in his heart was gone.

“I missed you,” he whispered to Thorin, squeezing just a little bit tighter, “so much.”

“And I missed you,” the dwarf whispered in return.

“I love you,” Bilbo said then, heart thumping just a little harder to say it so plainly, but the thrill of it was a good one, knowing as he now did what Thorin’s response would be: “And I you, my dearest Bilbo.”

Thorin raised his head at Bilbo’s gentle urging, and fell gladly into his kisses.

Eventually, they rose long enough to clean themselves up and put out the lights before curling into bed and each other’s arms once more.

Heart at peace, Bilbo fell asleep cradling Thorin’s warm bulk, and couldn’t in that moment think of anything else in the world that he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winding up towards the end now - just one chapter left, as long as my current outline holds! :D
> 
> Thank you all for your comments/kudos - they are all greatly appreciated, even if I am bad at replying in a timely fashion.


End file.
